Chapter Text
“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.”
Outside the world was alight with wildfire. Sansa stared at the blood man, his white armor gleaming an eerie green as sparks shot up towards the black sky. The blood on his face was almost black, his armor stained as well. Even his white cloak.
Sansa felt her heart beating wildly, horrified. He was Joffrey’s dog, the king had to be behind this. Had he sent Clegane to test her, to test her loyalty?
“I’ll be safe here,” she whispered. “Stannis won’t hurt me.”
The Hound grabbed her, grip iron and steel and painful, and growled out in a visceral voice, “Look at me!” Sansa flinched away, wishing to hide, but having nowhere to go. He smelled of wine and blood and death, his hair sticking to him in sweaty, bloody mats. “Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer.” Sansa tensed at the mention of her father, wanting to protest that lord Eddard Stark had never enjoyed killing, that it was simply his duty, but she dared not speak. “Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built by killers, so you’d better get used to looking at them.”
Something in his eyes relaxed Sansa, a sadness that leaked through the weakness the wine caused. Something that had been smoldering and growing inside him a long time, fleeting in those dark irises for a second.
“You won’t hurt me,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
“No little bird,” he said, releasing one of her arms and reaching up, touching a few strands of her auburn hair. “I won’t hurt you.”
He lingered a moment, and Sansa thought he might try to kiss her. She reached up, touched his blood and leather covered fingers, gripped them in her hand. He won’t hurt me.
He tried to pull his hand back, and Sansa released his fingers, took the hand that had cradled them and held it to her chest. “Wait,” she said softly, after he had taken the few steps to her doorway. “Please...please take me with you.”
Sansa didn’t care where he was going, but truly, it must be better than King’s Landing. The city was burning, and if they managed to win, she would still be stuck behind with Joffrey, only now without the Hound to help shield her.
And if they lost, she did not know what Stannis would bring.
The Hound nodded, reached his hand out. She took it, not stopping to pick up a single thing. He led her down the halls of her tower, keeping her behind him, unsheathing his sword and having it at the ready. The tower was deserted until they reached the halls, and then they found men. Mostly on the Lannister side, scrambling one way or the other. Some running to the battle, some quickly away.
The chaos left them unnoticed.
“Stay close,” the Hound said, and Sansa nodded. She followed him through the running men, off towards the stables. Inside she could still hear the cracking of the wood on the ships as they burnt and sunk, the endless screaming of men.
The few horses left were panicking, all except one. The Hound’s black stallion, Stranger, stood stoic as stone. The Hound led him out, gave his muzzle a gentle stroke, then jumped up. Sansa saw small saddle bags already attached, and realized the Hound had put more than some drunken thought into this.
The Stallion took a few steps towards her, and Clegane reached his hand down. He pulled her up and settled her in front of him. One hand held the reins, the other wrapped around her waist, gripping her firmly. Sansa held onto his arm as the stallion trotted off. The iron gate had been deserted, the men being pulled into the battle at Blackwater, and Sansa was shocked at how easy it was to simply walk out.
“Did they all go to the battle?” she asked as Stranger picked up to a gallop the moment the were outside the gate.
“Aye. And few will come back.”
Sansa pinched her lips shut, offering a silent prayer to the seven, for the safety of the men who didn’t deserve to die. If the wildfire took the Lannisters though, she would not mind.
Finally, she asked for their protection as they rode into the night.
They did not stop as the night wore on. Sansa grew weary, her eyes heavy. She slumped forward, struggling to keep herself awake and upright. She felt rhe Hound guide her back, lean her against his chest. Neither spoke, but Sansa relaxed against him and closed her eyes, catching a few moments of brief, dark sleep.
She did not know how the Hound went all night as he did, or into the next day. Her eyes opened around dawn, to see the sky changing into it’s many wild colors through the tree tops.
“Where is the road?” she asked.
“We’re not on it,” he said, looking down at her now that she was awake, stealing a glimpse at her sterling blue eyes. “The King’s Road is no safe place for us.”
Before the light could rise completely, he halted the horse and dismounted. He told Sansa to stretch her legs and piss, he wasn’t about to stop again.
She did, jumping down and nearly falling. He ahd already walked away, and she caught herself carefully, looking around. She walked in the opposite direction, trying to get as far away as possible, wanting to retain a shred of decency.
Once she was done, she attempted to straighten her skirts. Her dress itself was not full, and she tore off her leggings underneath completely. They were warm, but torn and dirty now. She left them, walking back, trying to find Stranger within all the trees.
She cursed, feeling as if she had gotten turned around, but not wanting to call out. She leaned against a tree, trying to clear her head, and in that moment felt a hand cover her mouth. She yelped into it, but it was only the Hound, she knew from the voice that scolded her for going so far.
“A lady needs privacy,” she said as she followed him, lifting her dress as she stepped over rocks and roots.
“A lady doesn’t run away from her future husband,” the Hound pointed out as they reached Stranger. He mounted, and Sansa looked up at him, eyes hard.
“If her future husband was a good man, maybe. Good men don’t have their future wives beaten.”
Neither moved for a moment, before the Hound gave her a silent nod and reached her, pulling her up into the saddle. He held her tight in his one arm and they were off, not stopping again until the sun was high, to break their fast late on a little bit of hard bread and cheese.
When night fell again, the Hound called a stop until dawn. Sansa was relieved, she didn’t want to sleep in the saddle again, though the prospect of sleeping on the cold, hard ground was none too appealing.
“Go find some wood for a fire,” he said as he helped her off Stranger. She watched as he took his bed roll off the horse, than began brushing him down, giving him reassuring pats, even talking in a soft, raspy whisper. Sansa turned and hurried into the dark, afraid if he caught her watching he would be angry. But she had never sen him gentle to anyone, only his horse, that wild beast that had kicked and bit more stable boys than if a Lioness had been released in the stables.
Sansa picked up a few pieces of wood, unsure if they would work. She thought the wood needed to be dry, but she wasn’t sure if any piece would do. And in the dark, she feared when she reached down she’d find a snake instead of wood.
It took her far longer than it should have, and when she was stumbling back in the direction she hoped the Hound was, she could barely balance the pieces she had. Most were thin more twigish than anything, but she couldn’t find anything else. When she finally emerged from a clump of exceptionally dense trees, she saw Stranger nibbling at the ground, the Hound with his back against a tree, sititng on his bed roll in just the dim moonlight, drinking from a wineskin.
“Took you long enough,” he said, setting the wineskin down and getting up. He looked at the mess of wood in her arms and gave an annoyed grunt, but took them from her anyway, kneeling down on the ground to try and start a fire.
Sansa stepped back, finding what remained of a stump, and sitting on it. It took the Hound a few tries, but when the fire took, Sansa thought he might jump out of his skin. He was quick to retreat from it, back to his bed roll and his sour wine. Sansa watched him take a long pull from it, and wondered if it was making him warm. When she drank wine too quickly, it made her head fuzzy, but her tummy warm. And at that moment, she was freezing. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the fire, at the crackling bright flames, and wished she could have them under her skin. In nothing but her dress, she cold wind bit through her quickly, leaving her almost numb. She knew laying on the ground would only make her worse too, and she despaired at knowing her night would be spent sitting on that stump, trying to sleep in her own lap.
The Hound watched her across the fire. He had sobered up since leaving King’s Landing, and all he could wonder is what the hell he intended to do with the Stark girl. Had he left on his own, he would have no trouble striking out somewhere, anywhere and disappearing. But with her, things were complicated. She was another mouth to feed, nearly useless as her horrible choice in tinder had shown, and was slowing him down. Yet, as he watched her shiver, he didn’t want to leave her there, in the cold. The little bird had something about her that he liked, besides her pretty face, and had she been left at King’s Landing he could only imagine the horrors that would come to her.
“Come here,” he said, and she looked up, stared at him through the flames. He thought he might have to call to her again, and grit his teeth in frustration, but she moved, albeit slowly. She stood, drifted around the fire, and stood a few feet from him, looking at him. He set the wineskin aside, gesturing to the spot next to him. Sansa hesitated a moment, but the cold outweighed her caution, and she settled down on the bed roll next to him, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. It was much more comfortable than the stump, adn closer to the fire. She could feel the heat rising off the Hound, and wanted to bury herself against him, yet at the same time was horrified to even think that.
He gave her no choice though. He reached over, pulled her closer, against his side, let his cloak drape over the both of them. He muttered something about her freezing to death, then grabbed his wineskin and took another pull. Sansa said nothing, and he offered it to her. She hesitated a moment, then took it, taking a few swallows. He could see her throat move in the firelight, pale and soft, and he wanted to feel it, the blood underneath and the skin between his lips and teeth.
When she handed it back he took an extra long drink, to chase the thoughts away. He felt Sansa relax against him, lean into him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and he looked at her.
“For what? It’s just wine.” He took another drink, then set it aside, wanting to make sure he had more for the coming nights.
“For getting me away from Joffrey.” She looked up at him, felt a little dizzy. The wine was strong and she had barely eaten since they had left the city. It had gone straight to her head. “You’re kinder than most would believe, ser.”
“I’m no ser,” he said, gripping her chin with his hand and tilting it up to look at him. “Knights aren’t dogs, girl.”
She didn’t fight him, didn’t cry out that he was hurting her. Instead she looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes, his face, his scars. He expected her to turn away, close her eyes, and her stare was enough to make him want to squirm. Finally her looked away, and when he looked back her eyes were on the fire.
They sat up in silence for a bit longer, before the Hound lay down. Sansa moved to return to her stump, but he held her arm firmly, guiding her down next to him, her back pressed against his chest. One of his arms draped over her, and he muttered she wouldn’t freeze this way. Sansa thanked him, closed her eyes, and fell into an exhausted sleep, feeling dizzy and oddly secure with the Hound at her back.
He awoke first, just as the sun crested in the sky. The dark had faded to a dawn gray, but the sky was still dark. Sansa was sleeping beneath his arm, warm and soft. Her hair drifted past his face, still smelled sweet and flowery. Still drowsy, Clegane nuzzled into it, breathed deep, felt her stir just slightly, shift so she was pressed tighter to him. His mind began to sharpen, and quickly he shifted back, blinking back sleep. He could feel his cock straining under his pants and armor, wanting to be pressed against her. He cursed, releasing her and standing up, leaning against the tree behind him. She still didn’t wake, just lay there, sweet and innocent and pretty, so easily attainable.
He ran his hand over his face, blocking her from view. Seven hells,he thought, and turned away, walking off into the trees, pulling one glove off with his teeth, ready to relieve the tension in him so he could think clearly.
When he returned Sansa was awake, sitting on the bed roll. When she saw him she smiled, sweet and innocent and lovely. The Hound silently cursed.
“Good morning,” she said, standing up. She smoothed down her dress and her hair, missing a leaf that had blown into it in the night. The Hound stepped close to her, reaching out and plucking it from her auburn tresses. She looked at it, then just smiled at him again.
The broke their fast briefly, then mounted Stranger and were off again. Sansa seemed more comfortable in the saddle with him now, clinging less. She wasn’t a bad rider, but Stranger was a wild stallion, and he left her unnerved.
“Where are we going?” she asked, looking around at the rising soon and trees.
“Maidenpool,” he said, “or the Saltpans. Where ever we can find a ship that isn’t infested with Lions.”
“A ship?”
“Yes. You’re not safe here, little bird. The further we are from this bloody kingdom, the better. We’ll take a ship to the free cities.”
He felt Sansa tremble a little.
“We could just go to my brother,” she said, but the Hound only shook his head. Honestly, he didn’t trust Robb Stark to keep his sister safe. The boy was big headed and green as spring grass. He may have shown some strength in battle so far, but Clegane knew his time would come. The Lannisters always paid their debts, and to Robb they owed a big one. And now, the Hound was sure they owed him one. All the more reason to be far from Westeros.
Sansa was quiet as they rode now, her smile gone. She had hoped he might take her home. To Winterfell, or to Robb. But she couldn’t say she was very shocked that the Hound had no such intentions. At least she would be far away from Joffrey.
Besides, the Hound wouldn’t hurt her. No one would, so long as he lived. She believed his promise that night in her bed chambers. She would have never left if she hadn’t.