Chapter Text
Sansa heard the wind howling through the darkness like a wolf. She wrapped herself more tightly into the plain woolen cloak and leaned back against the Hound, shivering slightly. He seemed not to notice her as they rode wearily towards the center of the village.
It had been nearly a week since she had encountered him on the Quiet Isle. Ser Shadrich had brought her in with her hands bound, stopping on his way to King’s Landing to deliver her to the queen. The Elder Brother had insisted that their prisoner be untied and that she stay in the women’s apartments. When Sansa had seen Sandor, she immediately recognized him despite the scarf covering his face. That night, she went to his room and threw herself to the ground at his feet.
Sansa shifted uncomfortably on the horse, remembering the sight of Ser Shadrich’s body. It still made her feel vaguely ill. The Elder Brother had not seemed pleased by the turn of events either. Sandor had only given her a black look when she asked what the Elder Brother had said to him, and refused to respond.
“Here we are,” the Hound rasped. She looked up and saw the lights of the inn. Sandor Clegane lifted her lightly from the horse, setting her on the ground. “I’ll take care of the horse,” he rumbled, “and you go in and hire the room.” Sansa nodded, understanding. The Butcher of Saltpans cannot let his face be seen here.
Entering the inn, she saw that the common room was full. Heads turned to look at her as she blew in with a gust of wind, and then turned back to what they were doing. The innkeep, a fat, jolly looking woman, bustled up to her.
“Will m’lady be wanting a room and a hot meal?” the woman asked her. “We’ve only one room left, but I can have a straw pallet fixed up for your guard in the stables. Two coppers for the night, including the room and a meal for you both.”
The Hound cannot sleep in the stables tonight. It is too risky. His face might be seen. She made herself smile at the woman. “The room will be sufficient but it is too cold outside for my guard. You can have that straw pallet fixed up in my room and send food and a flagon of wine up as well. We will take our meal there.”
The woman eyed Sansa in a speculative way that made her face color but nodded. “As you ask, m’lady.” She caught the arm of a passing girl. “Claire, show the Lady…” she paused, looking at Sansa. “Catelyn,” Sansa said, thinking quickly. “Catelyn Snow.” She felt a sudden chill, thinking of her bastard brother Jon at the Wall, but the woman only nodded. “Show the Lady Catelyn to her room and have a straw pallet fixed up for her guard.”
The girl nodded quietly. “This way, m’lady.” Sansa followed her through the hallway, blushing at the thoughts she knew were going through the minds of the girl and innkeep. She was uncertain how the Hound would take the sleeping arrangements as well. They had been camping outside every night so far and Sansa had finally pleaded with him to go to the inn this night. Her body was sore and aching and she longed for a proper bed and a filling meal. And a bath… the last time she had bathed was on the Quiet Isle and she felt grimy.
She stood in the center of the room, looking around. It was a nice one, with a small fireplace, a large
soft feather bed, a table with two chairs, and a small adjoining room with a tub that had water piped in. She turned the pipe to test the water and found it warm, to her delight. A hot bath… for both of us. The Hound smells like his horse too.
The door creaking made her jerk nervously, but it was only the girl Claire with a covered platter of food and the promised flagon of wine. Sansa turned to her with a soothing smile. “Claire, can I give you our garments for the laundry service or is it too late to include them?”
“The girl in the village does our wash at night, m’lady. I’ll be delivering everything to her in an hour. If you give me the garments now, I can include them. It’ll cost though… she charges a copper per garment, and two for cloaks and the like.” Sansa frowned. It seemed high to her, but she was desperate for clean clothing that didn’t smell of horse and sweat. She had very few extra garments, but Shadrich had caught her when she was trying to escape the Vale and thus she had two extra dresses, smallclothes, and some money that she had sewn into the lining of her dress alongside Lady Lysa’s jewels. Wordlessly, she handed Claire the bundle that contained her extra clothes as well as the Hound’s.
That was the moment the Hound chose to enter the room, his face still wrapped in the scarf. The girl gave a squeak and slipped out hastily, closing the door behind her.
“Lady Catelyn?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “My mother’s name,” Sansa responded. “I could hardly use my own.” Sandor only nodded, and then his gaze slipped away from her, taking in the room until it finally landed first on the bed, then the straw pallet, then on Sansa herself again. She felt herself turning red.
“I could hardly leave you in the stables,” she said abruptly. “Too much chance of you being recognized.” She could not read his expression and he only gave a short nod and sat at the table.
They ate in silence. Sansa quietly poured wine for them both before she hungrily tore into her part of the meal. The money they had was too dear to spend recklessly, so the meal was simple – a lentil soup that was thick with vegetables but none of the spices that Sansa was accustomed to eating. She thought suddenly of the dishes at Joffrey’s wedding feast, spiced with nutmeg and saffron and cinnamon and salt, and then remembered Joff’s face, blackening as he clawed at his throat. The memory made goose flesh rise on her arms, and Sansa shivered.
Sandor was looking at her silently and Sansa suddenly remembered how he kissed her the night he came to her room as the world burned around them. She felt flushed all over. I should have gone with him then. The thought made her feel strangely lightheaded and she stood up sudenly.
“I am going to take a bath,” she declared, “and after that you can take one as well.” He said nothing, only arching a brow at her again, and Sansa felt herself turn redder. She went to the bag that he had brought in with their remaining garments and picked through them, taking out a pretty pale blue silk shift and a grey silk robe embroidered with direwolves. Littlefinger had had it made for her, and it reminded her too much of Winterfell to leave behind. She felt the Hound’s eyes still on her as she slipped through the door into the washroom.
Once in the safety of the adjoining room, and away from Sandor’s persistent gaze, Sansa stripped off her clothes and sank into the warmth of the tub with a sigh. I have not felt this good in so long. She sniffed at the soap suspiciously and identified it as lavender, before she began to scrub. When she was all clean, she drained out the dirty water and then refilled it again, despite flinching at the the waste. She lay back and took a small sip of the wine in her glass, wriggling her toes. Somehow, she felt reluctant to go back out again but she knew she must. The Hound will be wanting to bathe as well.
She quickly dressed, luxuriating in the feeling of the silk shift and smallclothes. She had not worn anything besides pure wool the days and nights on the road and the silk made her feel beautiful again, like Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I am a wolf, she reminded herself. She did not feel very wolfish, only tired and sore from her travels.
When the door opened, Sandor Clegane looked up. His eyes were hot upon her and Sansa suddenly felt faint. “You can take your bath now,” she said weakly. He said nothing, only standing and brushing quickly past her, the door slamming behind him. Sansa sat down on the edge of the bed and began to brush her hair. It was a soothing bedtime ritual, even now that she no longer had a maid to do it for her. She thought suddenly of her mother, brushing her hair at night and singing softly and then found herself blinking back tears.
He wants to kiss me again. I know he does. But did she want him to kiss her? Sansa felt weak, remembering how it felt when his cruel mouth came down on hers. She thought suddenly of his big hands and imagined what they would feel like on her body. She sank back down onto the feather bed breathlessly, closing her eyes.
The door opened and Sansa came flying up, stumbling and nearly falling to the ground in her haste. The Hound was staring at her and she turned red all over again. “I-I…” she stammered. “You scared me!” Sandor gave a rasping laugh, but he didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on her body, and when Sansa looked down she realized that her robe had come open and her legs and cleavage were clearly visible. Blushing, she pulled the robe closed and studied her feet. Sandor sat down at the table and poured himself another glass of wine.
“So, what’s the plan, little bird?” he rasped at her. Sansa frowned at him.
“What plan, my lord?”
He glared at her but didn’t bother rising to the bait. “Where are we going, little bird?” he growled. “We’ve been on the road for a week. Surely you plan for us to go somewhere, or are you waiting to be caught by Lannisters?”
Sansa flushed angrily and then suddenly shuddered, gooseflesh rising on her body. And then, before she realized it, she had begun to cry. She curled up in the fetal position, wrapping her arms protectively around her knees, and began shaking with silent tears. The Hound watched her, alarmed.
“Little bird…” he rasped, and before she knew it he had lifted her up and wrapped his arms around her. She was trembling against him as her tears soaked the front of his jerkin. Sansa could not remember the last time she had cried and it was as though floodgates opened and a river of tears came pouring out.
At last, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and sat up. Her head felt strangely clearer and the tension that was in her body had relaxed. “Winterfell,” she said at last.
Sandor Clegane frowned at her. “Winterfell’s a burnt out ruin,” he growled. “The North is crawling with Freys, and Boltons, and wildlings are on the rampage! There are…” Sansa held up her hand, cutting him off.
“There are still loyal lords,” she said quietly. “Lord Manderly, Lady Mormont, the hill tribes, and others. I am a Stark of Winterfell, and the lady of Winterfell now. We’ll travel north tomorrow.”
Sandor glared at her before taking a swallow of his wine. He stood, looming over her in the darkness. Sansa lifted her chin and met his eyes, coldly. I am a wolf, she thought again, and I will go home.
Sandor turned away from her and blew out the candle. The set of his shoulders, the sudden anger in his eyes, the way he dropped down heavily onto the straw pallet, all let Sansa know his opinion of their destination. But she didn’t care.
“Very well, little bird,” he snarled. “We’ll travel North at dawn tomorrow.”