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.
* onborrowedwings and nysandra, thank you for all the time, dedication, support and feedback you've given me! :D again, owe you so much!
- 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.
40. Farewell to Essos
Sandor, wide awake and alert, grabbed the discarded breeches he'd readily thrown to the floor hours ago, pulling them on silently. Then he donned on his tunic, boiled leather and his boots, running through his mind all the while the list of tasks he and his little bird had to do, considering alternatives to everything that could happen that could fuck up their plans for today.
The room was dark but for the remains of the fire that was blazing in the hearth, its shifting flames and shifting logs the only sounds to break the silence in the room, and the stillness that descended on The Inn of the Green Eel.
It was still two hours till dawn, the appointed time in which the galley The King of the Seas was going to set sail towards White Harbor, and Sansa and Sandor had an hour to reach the shack where the Onion Knight and the others would be waiting for them. Even though he was loath to walk away from the comfort and happiness he had found in resting beside Sansa last night, Sandor knew it was better to be ready and have time to spare.
They were almost ready now, since they had agreed on not asking for a bath, knowing how long that would take. Instead, after the last time they had fucked, they had cleaned themselves with wet clothes, at times reaching out a hand to touch or help the other, before going back to bed to try and get some rest.
When he had woken up from a deep, peaceful and contented slumber a short while back, Sandor had remained in bed at first, with Sansa in his arms, watching her sleep, simply and silently admiring her with eyes full of wonder. I'd never felt more alive as I did with her last night, he gathered silently, smiling in the dark.
For now that he could have Sansa, Sandor had found out that he could no longer stop himself through their wedding night from doing just that. When the time had come to wake her up, and even if he had done so gently, kissing her beautiful face until she blinked up at him with a sleepy smile, it really had seemed to be one of the hardest things Sandor had ever done to leave her despite the night they'd had together, because rather than laugh and kiss and play and stay in bed as they were used to do, they had to go catch a bloody ship.
And so he had almost cursed himself, along with the gods, the sodding Onion Knight and everyone else for not allowing him the chance to remain in bed with the little bird all day long, until he remembered that he shouldn't really mock so readily now. I'm lucky to have been able to be with her and make her my wife while we stayed too long in this buggering city. Don't brood on what you can't have, and forget the sweet promises at hand for now.
Before he knew it, Sandor found himself imagining the future that awaited him and his little wife, if they somehow managed to survive the war in all fronts and the bloody northern winter ahead of them. Losing himself once more in the arousing memories of Sansa moaning underneath him as he took her, and in the bliss that they had come to know as they fucked at last, Sandor didn't even realize that he was still grinning like a bloody green boy who had just fucked for the first time, until he was closing his saddlebag and his little wife chirped, "Why are you smiling?"
Turning around to face her, Sandor couldn't help it, and his grin widened as he looked at her. His little bird had been hugging her legs as she sat up in bed, covering herself with the bed sheets ever since he had stood up to get dressed. Sandor had dressed under his beautiful wife's intense stare, smirking with pride at the way his body looked. The only thing she can find fault with is my face, Sandor had gathered, until he reminded himself the next moment that the little bird had stopped minding his burns long ago.
She looks at me now the way I always wanted her to, since I first met her. And by the look on Sansa's face and the blush that had crept up her neck, Sandor gathered that she had liked what she saw. Sansa's tousled auburn hair looked like some wild lion's mane at present, and she was regarding him with a small smile of her own as she watched him get ready before her.
"You very well know why," Sandor grunted in response, striding over to her with a smirk.
The little bird raised her face up to meet his as he leaned down to kiss her, cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone backwards and forward.
"Good morning, big man," his wife whispered against his mouth, smiling, making him remember the night and day when they had first started kissing.
"Morning, Sansa Clegane," he rasped in return, still having a hard time to believe that she was now a part of his family for true.
He saw Sansa close her eyes at that, sighing softly, "I love how it sounds," making him kiss her again, deeply.
They were only silent for a few heartbeats, but the sound of both their bellies rumbling loudly in protest interrupted them. Sandor snorted, his eyes falling on the bare skin of his bird's arms and shoulders, straightening up reluctantly from Sansa's mouth and her warmth even as the vision of what was underneath the blankets had him going hard. He barked, "Hungry?"
"Yes," Sansa answered, yawning. "I feel I could eat a whole chicken by myself."
"I doubt the lazy bugger that calls himself the innkeeper will have any chickens at this hour, bird. I'll most likely have to pay him to get his arse out of bed."
His wife nodded in understanding. Sandor wanted to tell her right there and then that if she wished it so, she only had to tell him that she wanted to remain here in bed with him till the world ended and he would happily oblige, but he knew her too well to know that Sansa was not going to complain about the hardships ahead, whether they be small or big, unless absolutely driven to it as a last resort.
So instead he sighed and walked away from the bed, sparing one last glance at the bird before he opened the door.
"I'll lock you inside just in case, love" he told her. "I'll just go tell the innkeeper to start making some food for us. Don't open the door to anyone for anything, understood?"
Nodding, Sansa replied, "Yes. Should I start getting ready too?"
Sandor open his mouth to reply, but didn't say anything. He frowned, quickly regarding Sansa. Her pretty face looked tired, and she was soon going to be deprived of the comforts of a feather bed once again. Since her saddlebag was already packed, all she needed to do was to dress and she would be all done.
"No need," he told her. "You can rest for a bit longer."
"Very well," she said, adjusting the bed sheets so that they covered up more of her skin. "Please don't take too long, Sandor. I don't want to be alone."
"I won't," he growled in promise, opening the door and stepping outside into the silent hallway.
The inn was quiet at this hour. The streets of the secret city became alive by nightfall, but Sandor guessed that drunkards returning home, or prancing bravos looking for a fight would be the only people outside at the moment. The Inn of the Green Eel was located as far as he had been able to ensure from the brothels and taverns, where the scum of the world gathered to pass away their time. Luckily, though, he wouldn't have to go outside just yet, for the rooms where the innkeeper slept were in the courtyard, beside the stable where Stranger and Nan were being housed.
Once Sandor reached the ground floor, he made his way across the common room, exchanging a glance with the boy that was sitting beside the counter as a guard, the lad's eyes barely able to remain open. But when he saw Sandor's face as he strode before him, he jerked awake in fright. Sandor scowled at him for that and muttered a curse under his breath. The little bird had come to love the sight of his ugly face, burns and all, so the rest shouldn't matter. Better get used to people looking away again, fool.
Sandor walked outside and knocked loudly at the door to the one-room house in a corner of the courtyard. He had to wait for a couple of long moments before the bloody innkeep finally answered the door.
"What the hell is going on?" the old man exclaimed, yawning and scratching the back of his head. When he met Sandor's eyes, he became suddenly alert, muttering with narrowed eyes in Braavosi, "Does your master want anything?"
Seven hells, my master. As far as the innkeep knew, Sandor was still the bodyguard of Hagen Edar, the disgraced son of the famous Lorathi merchant family, and Sansa was his wife, while he was their sworn shield. If the bugger had wondered why Edar's wife and paid sword returned to the inn alone last night, at least he is not making any questions. It had been a small mercy that the common room had been almost full last night, for the loud shouts and curses of drunken men had somewhat muffled the screams and moans Sandor was sure had at least been heard outside the hallway of their room.
"Aye, we want good hot food to break our fast with. Some beer and milk too," Sandor rasped at the man in his best attempt at Braavosi.
The innkeeper looked at him with incredulity. "At this hour? It's not even near dawn!"
"Yes, we want it right now, you fool. And you're going to get paid for it, so spare me your cackling and get to it now. We'll go down to the common room soon enough, and expect to see good food on the table by then."
He turned around and left the old man without another word, knowing that he would do as he'd been told.
Once he had arrived back to the room, Sandor quickly stepped inside and barred the door behind him, relieved that Sansa was just as he had left her, unharmed and as safe as she would ever be in this inn in the Free City. It's not Essos we have to worry about from now on, though.
"Everything all right?" Sansa asked him at once, propping herself up with her elbows.
"Aye. Told the idiot that he better cook something quickly if he knows what's good for him," Sandor answered, heading over to his saddlebag.
He picked it up and placed it on the small table by the door just as the bird said, "We have a long day ahead of us. I guess I should start getting ready now."
"I reckon that would be wise, little bird," Sandor replied, smiling at her, not even remembering that the gesture only served to pull the burns near his mouth into an ugly stretching sight that twitched.
Sandor watched as Sansa suddenly stood up on the bed, still clutching the bedcovers around her like some towel after a bath. She just stayed there though, silently regarding him with an expression that left him at once in no doubt what she meant. She needs me.
"Sandor," she said then, her voice barely above the tone of a whisper as she beckoned him to her.
In three long strides Sandor was before her, his legs hitting the edge of the bed and his arms going around her as he drew her close to him. Sansa hugged him back, her arms going around his neck, and the bed sheet sliding down to puddle on the mattress, revealing his wife's beautiful naked body in his arms. The tightness in his breeches increased at once as his eyes roamed down over her for a moment before she pressed herself closer to him, her mouth searching for his scarred one.
Sandor groaned as he felt the smooth skin of Sansa's body underneath his rough touch, as he brought one hand to wrap around her tiny waist, and the other one to hold the back of his little bird's head after having slid them along her bare back and the curve of her waist.
His wife meanwhile cupped both sides of Sandor's face alike, pressing herself so close to him that all he could do was kiss her back, breathing in her smell, wishing so much that he could simply take her right here and now again–the knowledge that he couldn't do just that, for the rest of today at least, gnawing inside of him till it was just too bloody much.
As Sansa nibbled at his upper lip, tugging at it with her own plump ones playfully, Sandor slipped his tongue inside her mouth, amazed again by his good fortune. How can anything feel like this, so bloody good and right? Never before had he understood when people said that some things were meant to be, but then the little bird had come into his life and changed everything for the better. Surely this is one of them. Having her in my arms like this.
Sandor had just turned his attention to Sansa's earlobe, taking it between his teeth with care, even as he brought his hand to cradle the little bird's teat, his thumb playing with the hardened nipple, making his wife sigh and trembled underneath his touch, breaking the kiss so she could bury her head in the crook of his neck.
As he silently wrapped his arms around her, trying not to crush her as he held her to him, Sandor's eyes fell on the bed sheets then, and his guts twisted in knots as he saw the blood on them. Not because of what it meant, since Sansa hadn't bled too much, and this was something that couldn't be helped one way or another, but because he remembered that they would have to show it to the fucking smuggler.
He had wanted to break Davos' neck as the low scum had asked to see the bloody sheet, so he could have proof to show to Stannis Rigid Baratheon back in the Seven Kingdoms that Sandor had spoken the truth when he said he'd respected the little bird, and though he'd agreed to it in the end, and even the little brave bird hadn't said a word in protest about it, Sandor seethed inwardly as he reminded himself that he couldn't go on and strangle the only ally he and the little bird would have in the difficult times ahead.
So he stayed there, hugging Sansa close to him instead, wishing to shield her from the world beyond this room for a few more moments. From all the whispers, threats, accusations, insults, backstabbing, treasons, betrayals, and all of that shit that was the game of thrones. For Sandor knew that something was worrying his little bird at present; something that had to do with what was in store for them across the Narrow Sea.
For a long moment, they were silent and just stood there holding on to each other in mutual support. His bird finally raised her head and confessed longingly, "I wish our wedding night didn't have to end."
Sandor almost groaned at those words. He pictured in his mind the two of them going to the stables for Nan and Stranger before they rode away from Braavos to the east somewhere, disappearing from the world and those who wished to harm them, but that was bloody impossible by now.
So instead, Sandor smoothed the little bird's hair back, away from her forehead as gently as he could, as he raised his eyebrow at her and snarled, "You know you're a crazy little bird, don't you?"
Sansa chuckled. "I must be. That is what you have always told me, big man."
Sandor half-smiled slyly at her, wondering what could cheer her up, and growled with arousal at what the near future promised, his eyes darkening, "Do you think the ship's cabin we are given will have a bunk bed we can make good use of?"
"Oh, Sandor," his bird sighed as she tried to fight back a chuckle.
He'd raised his eyebrow at her again, but Sansa had only gone on in a whisper, blushing red as she admitted in a low voice, "But I was wondering about that, too."
Snorting, loving her for her words, Sandor kissed Sansa again, lifting her off the bed in his arms, marvelling at remembering that they were married now, and at the way she always sighed when he kissed her.
They didn't break the kiss as he stepped back a few paces, letting his wife slide down against his body slowly. It was all Sandor could do to keep himself in check in the end to restrain himself from doing more than just bucking his hips into her, his cock twitching inside his breeches.
When they drew apart and looked at each other, with both their gazes dusky with need, Sandor almost felt as if he was drowning in the blue of Sansa's eyes for a moment, before he kissed her pretty nose and rasped, "I'll help you get dressed."
He would have rather she stayed the way she was, naked and at ease in his arms, but remembering that the little bird had always loved to help him don his armor, and recalling that time in Norvos when she had taken off his boots, had made Sandor feel good to be able to be helping her now. It's a privilege to be allowed to do this, he'd thought, grateful to his love as he laced her up in one of her thick wool dresses.
And when they were done, Sansa helped him don his armor while he regarded her with a warm grin, thinking it felt bloody good in some way to be back in his armor again. Let's see how long it takes me to change my mind.
"Ready?" Sandor asked at last, as he tied on his left gauntlet, playing the list of the things they were bringing along once more in his head to make sure they weren't missing anything.
Straightening her back, Sansa nodded and replied, "Yes. I'm ready for this."
Sandor nodded and grabbed their saddlebags under his arms after he'd opened the door and stepped outside into the hallway. The strong smell of warm food reached him at once. Sansa and Sandor spared one last look at the room where they'd had their long-awaited wedding night. Sandor thought it strange that he found himself not regretting leaving this room, but actually looking forward to the life ahead that promised better times than the one they'd known in this room, in this inn.
They sat at a table in a corner of the empty common room, only to find that their food wasn't ready yet and that the boy that had been guarding the room had been delegated to cook them their breakfast. Sandor cursed the innkeeper for a fool as Sansa watched him with a little amused smile. As the innkeeper started bringing them their food, starting with a big tankard of beer for him and a flagon of buttermilk for the bird, and followed at last by morning biscuits, browned hot with honey and butter, served with crisp bacon, blood sausages and hard bread.
A comfortable silence descended upon them then as took their time to break their fast, both wishing to make this moment last. It was times such as these that Sandor relished, though he knew that but a year ago he would have scoffed at the thought of finding such joy in simple things, such as eating in silence with Sansa beside him, the lack of conversation not a problem.
At times Sandor caught Sansa giving him shy glances and blushing as soon as he met her stare, which had him snorting, because it was amusing to see how much could Sansa blush at a simple thing like him locking his gaze with hers when they had fucked less than two hours ago.
"What is it?" he rasped when he'd had enough of Sansa's behavior, grabbing his tankard of beer, drinking long and deep.
"It's just like back in that inn before we reached Great Norvos, don't you remember?" his little wife confessed. "When I kissed the beer foam from your beard."
Seven hells, Sandor thought, remembering at once. He brought his hand to his beard, intending to clean the foam, but stopped when Sansa took hold of his hand in hers and chirped, "Oh, no, you don't have any foam at present. I was… I was just recalling that night."
Sandor remembered that night well enough. He silently put his arm around Sansa's waist, kissing the crown of her head, before returning his attention to his breakfast. Just as he was about to take a bite of a sausage, Sansa suddenly chirped, "Sandor?"
"Yes?" he growled.
"Why didn't you let me kiss you that night?" she asked him, taking him completely by surprise.
Sandor stared at the little bird sharply with wide eyes, but saw that she was serious and was curious to learn about his motives at the time.
After a moment in which he gathered his thoughts, Sandor ran a hand through his hair and answered, "Bugger me if I know, Sansa. I guess I just thought at first that I was just too fucking afraid that I would do something to scare you, bird. To make you fear me again, and have your pretty blue eyes look at me with hatred. Afterwards, before we reached Norvos, it changed. By then I had to remind myself all the sodding time that you were not meant for me in the end. I'd gathered that since everything we were living in Pentos was so new to us both, it was really the novelty what excited you… what drew you to me."
When he was done, he saw Sansa lowering her gaze thoughtfully for a brief moment, before she raised her eye to lock her gaze with his and reply softly, "Sandor, everything with you has always felt… has always been right."
Sandor smirked down at his bird at that, shaking his head in resignation. He brought the hand he'd had around Sansa's waist to the nape of her neck with a smile, as he brushed her cheekbone gently with his knuckles, their heads leaning closer and closer to each other. Just as they were about to kiss, their eyes met. He brought his thumb to her pretty mouth, enthralled by the way she parted her lips in desire at the gesture.
"Little bird," he told Sansa, in a serious tone, as his mouth began to twitch. "Don't say that or I'll start believing you."
In the blink of an eye, Sandor was kissing her deeply. When they drew apart, Sandor was struck with a sudden idea. He dipped his finger into the remaining foam of his beer and smeared it across the little bird's face, drawing a squeak from her in protest, for she had not expected this, and was not fast enough to stop him.
This time it was Sandor the one who kissed the beer foam from his bird's face, laughing as Sansa threw her arms around him, and he kissed her again on her pretty red mouth, his hand at the back of her head in an attempt to press her against him even closer. It was a bloody miracle that the innkeeper didn't appear to order them to lower their voices, so the other guests could get some decent rest.
After they paid the old innkeeper for his troubles, and saddled Nan and Stranger, Sandor and Sansa pulled on the hoods of their cloaks, the former hiding his sword underneath the folds of the dark traveler's cloak, and the latter stepping close to him. They lead their horses by the reins through the cobblestone streets of the city, over stone bridges, avoiding the dark alleys that loomed at every corner with unseen threats. By the time they had arrived at the end of the street where the shack was located, it was barely an hour before dawn. Just in time, Sandor thought, stopping as he noticed Stranger and Nan neigh loudly behind him. Fuck, and here it goes, just as I knew it would.
"They've sensed him," Sandor said, jerking his head at the horses, grabbing Nan's reins in his hands as well as Stranger's. "Little bird, go ask Hagen to come here."
Sansa nodded, sparing a last look at Nan and Stranger before walking over towards the small house quickly. Sandor watched her go for a moment before he turned his attention to the horses and to his surroundings, making sure no one had followed them.
In less than no time, Sandor saw Hagen Edar come out of the house, clad all in white, with his bow and quiver attached to his back, before he swiftly made his way to where Sandor was waiting for him at the end of the alley, followed by Davos Seaworth.
"Hello," Edar said, giving him a meaningful look and a smile.
Sandor knew why Hagen was smirking, but rather than throw a curse at him for finding it amusing that he and the little bird had finally fucked, Sandor just snarled a greeting in reply.
"Clegane," the smuggler said in greeting, nodding in acknowledgment at him.
"Seaworth. Was the septon hard to deal with after we left?" he asked.
"Not much. Though he was disappointed at me when he realized I didn't really want anything to do with his gods," Hagen said brightly
Nodding in approval at that, Sandor suddenly remembered. He narrowed his eyes and spat in the direction of Stannis Rigid Baratheon's Hand, "The bloody sheet is inside the mare's saddlebag. I trust you don't need to have the little bird here while you inspect it."
The bloody Onion frowned at him at those words, but decided to keep whatever was on his mind to himself. Instead, he silently went over Nan's saddlebag to take a good look at the bloody sheet. Edar was at least tactful enough to look away, but Sandor kept his eyes fixed on the smuggler as Davos went on with his fucking observation, trying to keep his anger in check at having to witness and permit this. A moment later, the Onion Knight nodded with a solemn face and stepped away from the saddlebag.
"Thank you, Clegane."
Sandor snorted. "For what? It had to be done. I didn't allow it for you, so don't thank me. Thank Sansa."
The Onion understood his meaning well enough. Sandor returned his attention to the Lorathi, waving his hand at Stranger as he asked him, "Ready for Stranger again? Think you can handle him?"
Since Sandor had realized yesterday morning as he fed his black war horse that he and Rickon's wild direwolf were probably not going to get along, he and Seaworth had made up a plan to avoid an encounter between the animals for as long as possible.
Edar and the smuggler were going to take the horses to the ship first, as Edar lead them below decks and Davos attempted to persuade the captain of The King of the Seas to agree on having a direwolf on his vessel.
Meanwhile Sandor, Sansa, Rickon and Osha the wildling where going to wait for some moments with Shaggydog back at the shack, so that when the wolf climbed the deck he did not agitate the horses.
Sansa's sworn arrow sighed in resignation. "No," he answered resignedly. "But there is nothing I can do about it."
"Thanks, Hagen," Sandor told the archer truthfully, knowing how much he still feared Stranger after the horse had tried to kill him back in the Hills of Norvos.
Edar smiled and gingerly took Stranger's reins. Sandor patted his horse's muzzle once before turning back to look at Seaworth. "I'll see you at the harbor shortly."
If Davos had any second thoughts about letting the two Stark heirs out of his sight, entrusting at least Rickon to Sandor's care however briefly, the Onion thankfully kept his mouth shut.
"Good luck with the wolf," was all he said instead, shaking Sandor's hand briefly. "Set out for the ship in less than half an hour."
Nodding, and looking at his beloved destrier one last time, Sandor jerked around and strode towards the end of the street to the small house. As he was about to enter, he turned his head to get a last glimpse of the others, but the men and the horses had already disappeared, swallowed by early morning's fog.
Inside the house in the living room, his little bird was talking with her brother, as Osha tied up a small bundle with their scarce belongings. The direwolf was anxiously walking around the house, as if sensing that something important was happening. He stopped when Sandor entered the house, but only spared him a look before going out to the small garden.
"Sandor!" Rickon said at once, when he caught sight of him.
Surprised by how glad the little bird's brother seemed to be at his sudden appearance, Sandor walked over to him and ruffled his hair, rasping, "You look as if you'd never seen a man in full armor before. You slept well, boy?"
"Yes. But I was just asking Sansa why Hagen came to sleep here at the house with us and not her?" the boy said, frowning at them both as he fought back a yawn that betrayed how sleepy he was at this early hour.
Sandor put his hand on Sansa's shoulder as the bird fussed about with Rickon's small old cloak, fastening it about his shoulders, sighing in answer, "Rickon darling, you know that married people have to be alone sometimes. Father and Mother slept in the same room in the same bed, remember? Well, that is just what I and Sandor have to do now. We have to be together, and since there was no room for the two of us here, we went back to the inn to get some rest there before the sea journey, to gather up our strength."
The young Stark opened his mouth in protest, but before he could say a word, Sandor quickly asked him, "Are you looking forward to it, Rickon? You and the wolf aren't frightened?"
Rickon's eyes widened at that, but he quickly shook his head, and said, "No, and Shaggy isn't a wolf, he is a direwolf. But–but we won't get lost again at sea, will we?"
Sandor and Sansa knew what he meant. Autumn storms had driven the boy, Osha, the wolf and the smuggler to Braavos after Skagos, and Sandor could now only silently hope that the journey to the North didn't prove too perilous. There was a reason why there were never any ships heading north to be found in Pentos, he gathered uneasily.
"The way to the north is easy, boy," Osha suddenly said. "The ship just has to look for the ice dragon up in the skies, and chase the blue star in the rider's eyes."
Exchanging a look with the little bird at those words, Sandor shook his head before dismissing his thoughts on how strange wildlings were. He leaned down to Sansa, and growled close to her ear, "It's done, little bird. The Onion has seen the bloody sheet."
His love chirped "Oh," in surprise, lowering her face to hide her blush as she realized what his words meant. Sandor straightened up, as the little bird turned to Osha and said, "Please, is there some water? My throat is dry."
"There's water, but it's not the good water," the wildling replied.
Sandor knew what she meant. The good water came over the arches of the great brick aqueduct the Braavosi called the sweetwater river. Rich men had it piped into their homes; the poor filled their pails and buckets at public fountains.
"All we have is canal water," Osha went on. "But I gave it a boil."
Once the little bird had drunk a wooden cup of water, Sandor gathered that it was time to start heading to the ship, and asked, "Are you ready Osha?" even as he took hold of Sansa's hand, giving it a squeeze.
"Aye, I am. I've had my fill o' this shack as well. The sooner we stop this yattering, the sooner I can get as far from it as possible."
"Yes, it's time," Sansa said in a heavy voice, taking in a deep breath, before smiling at them all. "Let's go."
She stood up and placed her hand on his arm, holding Rickon's smaller one all the while. They stepped out of the house into the empty street with Osha at their heels, and Sansa's brother calling to his wolf to keep close.
They made their way through the maze of islands and canals that was Braavos, devoid of grass and trees, and thankfully strangers at present, since they didn't encounter many people at this early hour. Sandor knew his way by now through the confusion of small canals well enough, and in less than no time they had passed the fish market and the Long Canal, with the Prestayns and the Antaryons on either side of the broad straight waterway.
When they reached Ragman's Harbor, they found it particularly deserted. As Sandor caught sight of Hagen and Davos talking to the captain of the galley that would take them all to the little bird's home, Sandor could not help but remember the last time he'd been here, when Shaggydog threw him to the ground and Rickon found Sansa.
It was only two days ago, but somehow it felt as if it was a lifetime ago. So bloody much had happened and changed since Sandor, Sansa and Edar had arrived here in Braavos, that it was a fucking wonder to him at times how he had ever managed to live through it all without a decent long sleep.
He looked down at the little bird beside him as they made their way to their companions, trying to ignore the shouts of awe the sailors up on deck were giving as they caught sight of Shaggy.
After a short introduction to the captain of the ship, Beren the Stout, Sandor, Sansa, Rickon and Osha let Davos and Hagen alone to try and keep on convincing the captain to allow Shaggydog on board. Rickon and the wolf were sitting on the floor beside Osha, who was standing beside an empty stall, surveying their surroundings with keen eyes.
Sandor had steered the little bird a few steps away from her brother and the wilding, wishing to be alone with her during these last moments they spent in Essos, where they had always been able to mingle with the crowd with no raised eyebrows, pointed looks or whispers behind their backs to break the comfortable leisurely life they had come to treasure here. He wrapped his arms around Sansa loosely, his hands on her waist, not caring anymore about hiding his affections. If we are going to be on the ship, people are bound to find out what's going on between us anyways.
Sansa had smiled at him as he took her hand and led her away from the others, and had rested her head on his breastplate, sighing. They both stood there in silence, lost in their own thoughts, until the little bird suddenly chirped excitedly beside him, "Sandor, look, it seems as if Captain Beren has finally relented."
"About bloody time," he replied, running his hand down Sansa's soft auburn locks. "The ship is meant to sail in less than half an hour. I wonder how much gold the Onion and Edar had to promise the captain to have him agree to it. Surely the bloody fool must know Baratheon doesn't have two coins to rub together at present."
His bird looked up at him, "Then we should thank the old gods and the new even more for making the captain agree."
Sandor snorted, almost rolling his eyes at the little bird's stubbornness.
There are no gods, bird, he was about to rasp, when Sansa went on, "I can't believe we are really finally going home. All I ever wanted was to go back to Winterfell since Father died, and now I really am."
Memories of their time in the Kingswood discussing with the little bird what the best route to take her north could be, and of visits to the bay in Pentos inquiring day after day about any ships that was sailing North flashed across Sandor's mind; he brought his knuckles to brush gently against Sansa's cheekbone.
"I know it took me a while, love," Sandor told her, staring down intently at Sansa's beautiful face. "But I am finally taking you to Winterfell like I told you I would."
Sansa chuckled at that, and replied in a voice soft as a kiss, "Yes, you are, big man."
Something in the way she said those words–in the way she had trusted herself to him so long ago–tore at him. Sandor hugged Sansa tight to him, pressing his hand to the back of his love's head, kissing her temple. He closed his eyes for a moment, before he snarled in her ear, his breath on her neck, "You were happy here, then?"
"Yes, I was. Very much, as you well know, darling," his little bird replied, cupping his scarred cheek as they drew their heads apart. "So much that I can't help but wonder if we will be able to be this happy in Westeros."
Sandor laughed at her worries, the sound like iron scraping over stone. He grabbed the hand Sansa had on his face, moving it to his chest, above his heart.
"Oh, that we will be, little bird," he assured his wife, grinning. "We both know that we are going to have a fucking hard time when we go back, but so long as we have each other, that is all we will ever really need to be happy."
The hollow rumbling of the Titan of Braavos echoed off the roofs of the secret city, but at this distance the sound was nothing more than a faraway thunder to Sansa's ears. She was standing by the aft of the ship, staring at the horizon, and watching the greatest of the Free Cities of Essos dwindle in the distance with Sandor, her lord and husband standing beside her. He had been holding her hand in a strong grip since the ship sailed away from the harbor, with sailors shouting commands to one another behind them on the deck and the ship's masts and sails.
Hagen Edar, her sworn arrow, was sitting on a corner of the deck upon some old wooden boxes, honing his daggers with Sandor's wet stones. Lord Davos had gone to have a private talk with Captain Beren, and Osha, Rickon and Shaggydog had gone below to the hold, which was the only empty place on the galley where a grown direwolf could be kept in. And the only place where poor Shaggy can be kept isolated, away from Stranger and Nan, and the soldiers.
"Of what are you thinking?" Sandor suddenly asked her, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek.
Sansa lowered her eyes, almost giggling. "I was remembering old Hrolf and his castle by the sea."
Sandor stared at her in surprise, blinking. "And why would you remember that old bugger now of all times?"
"I was remembering the books he made me read to him. About ship lore and such. I was trying to see if I could recall anything that was written in them."
"And did you?" Sandor asked her.
Sansa shook her head. "No."
Snorting and ruffling her hair, Sandor sighed, long and deep. "Bloody hells, Hrolf and his castle. Who would have thought back then that the mad outlaw that followed us to that place would end up taking my place as your protector, little bird?"
Turning around, Sansa placed her hands on the cold metal of Sandor's breastplate, and said firmly, "I have you to thank for that, darling."
Sandor brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "You liked it then? Edar becoming your sworn arrow and all?"
"Oh, yes, very much," she replied, nodding. It had moved her beyond words to see Hagen, her dearest friend, bend the knee before her, pledging his life to her service after she had married his predecessor. "But–but, Sandor, could I please ask you to do something for me?"
Raising an eyebrow at her, Sandor answered, "Sure, anything you want, little bird."
"Could you please try and be a little more patient with Hagen?"
Ever since Osha had told Sansa yesterday before her wedding what the Lorathi would be willing to do for her and Sandor–giving them the only coin he had in this world after his family's business passed to Bryar–she had felt compelled to talk to Sandor about his short temper with the archer.
And since both men were very dear to her, she couldn't really let her husband and protector bicker behind her all day long. She would like to tell Sandor what Hagen had done for them, to see what Sandor thought of Edar then. But I can't. She had given her word to Osha that she would not tell a soul about this.
Sandor's mouth started to twitch, and he regarded her with a long deep stare before saying quietly, "You know, Hagen's already told me what happened between him and the High Sheep."
"Really?" Sansa asked, surprised. "And what did he say?"
"I'll tell you later," her big man replied, sparing a look in the Lorathi's direction. Sansa nodded, glancing discreetly over at Hagen.
"Look, bird," her husband said, pointing to the right. "We can barely see the Titan now."
Sansa turned her head around to look across the pounding sea at the mighty statue, no bigger than an anthill by now in the distance. Her thoughts took her back to the evening in which she had first arrived on eastern shores, looking at Pentos loom closer, wondering what adventures awaited her in the fabled lands across the Narrow Sea. And just as when she had first arrived at Pentos aboard The Summer Bird, Sansa recalled evenings from long ago gathered around the fire with her brothers and her sister, listening to Old Nan tell them stories about boys who stowed away on trading galleys and sailed off to adventures.
Her time in Essos with Sandor had been the most fulfilling experience she could have ever hoped for. For rather than finding happiness as the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa had come to know true love with Sandor Clegane, growing in the process, healing from the wounds she had been made to suffer and silently endure in King's Landing.
She had come here as Sansa Stark, seeking shelter; a scared and tormented little girl fleeing for her life, who had entrusted herself to a man that was practically a stranger to her. And now she was going back home to Westeros as Lady Sansa Clegane, a woman married with the weight of the North upon her young shoulders.
I must be brave, like Robb, Sansa told herself then, turning around to watch her husband's burned profile beside her, only to find that rather than staring at the beautiful view before them, Sandor was already regarding her with a soft look in his eyes, the grey in them looking as calm as a northern sea after a winter storm.
Sandor put his huge hand on her waist, pulling her closer to him, and rasped, "Come, little bird. There is nothing to see here anymore."
He was right in that, Sansa thought. There was nothing to stare at that belonged to the east anymore. It made no matter. They were done with those precious carefree days. The end to their life in Essos had come and gone by now.
Sansa drew up her hood against the wind as Sandor led her across the deck. She didn't like being aboard a ship so soon once again, since they always made her grow seasick and dizzy, but at least Sansa had needed so far only her big man's strong arm for support to steady her.
When they reached the other side of the ship, the one that faced the west and the Seven Kingdoms, Sandor stepped behind Sansa and encircled her in his arms. Sandor said that we would be back, and that everything would be fine somehow when we first arrived in Essos. Westeros shouldn't be so very different. Our lives still hang on the balance of our decisions. Only now there was Rickon, Hagen and the remains of her family's loyal bannermen to take into account. And the children Sandor and I will have too, one day.
As she stood there in Sandor's arms, leaning against his chest, gazing across the blue horizon towards Westeros, and feeling the cold wind caressing her hair, she grabbed the rail for support and closed her eyes, feeling salt spray drench her face at once. It was refreshing, and at last Sansa allowed herself to remember. It felt so nice to feel so loved in moments such as these.
Sansa's big man leaned his head down so he could place a kiss softly on her cheek then, making her smile since his beard tickled her in this position. She tilted her neck up so she could look Sandor in the eyes. When he brought his lips to claim her mouth, Sansa sighed and threw her arms loosely around Sandor's neck, closing her eyes, for this was the taste of dreams.
She could recall every detail of her wedding night with vivid clarity, knowing she would treasure the memories till the day she drew her last breath. From the moment Sandor had come back to their room at the inn, to the last time he had taken her.
There was still some discomfort, but somehow I fear that making love to him will quickly become as necessary to me as breathing or eating. It wouldn't matter if what she wanted to feel was raw passionate pleasure, or comfort, or reassurance, or simply to be loved. Whatever she could come to need, her big man would surrender it to her completely.
But not only in bed would Sansa need her husband now. She didn't have to face the looming dangers of the game of thrones alone. Sansa could always lean on Sandor, and he on her. Like he had told her before they came aboard The King of the Seas, so long as they had each other, as their love was strong and hope lingered, she shouldn't fear the long hard road ahead of her; of them.
Winter was here, and the North was calling Sansa.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Hope you liked their last hours in Essos :D Reviews are love 3