Winter's Queen and the Hound of the North

After the Blackwater

Ch I

Sansa fled with the Hound when he asked her to, when the Blackwater was burning. She was petrified, terrified of the flames and the blood, and even of the man whose protection she was placing herself under, but leaving was better than staying in the hell of King's Landing without the one protector she had. She looked at the bloodied, scarred and angry Hound, compared him to Joffrey, and made her decision.

The escape from the city was a memory that would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. Her distinctive red hair covered by the hood of her cloak, Sansa huddled closely to the Hound. Wildfire burned and the clash of swords rang in the air. 'Stay close, Little Bird,' he shouted over the din of the dying. A knight challenged them, recognising the huge bulk of Clegane. It was the last thing he ever did. The Hound's sword sliced through his neck as the world exploded in blood. Sansa closed her eyes and screamed. Memories of her father's death flashed through her mind and she screamed again. Sandor scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, like a doll. 'We're nearly there, girl,' he said, running through the back streets and alleys. When he stopped, she found herself being lifted onto a horse - Stranger. The beautiful animal was frightened, tossing his head and showing the whites of his eyes. Sandor spoke softly to him before mounting up, and they tore headlong towards the gates.

The Hound had not lied when he said that they were all afraid of him. Soldiers threw themselves out of the way of his sword, and of Stranger's flying hooves. Sansa could barely breathe at the speed and force of it. She prayed that he wouldn't let her go, that he wouldn't be struck by a flying spear, that they both wouldn't be burned by the flames. And the flames! Never before had Sansa seen anything like them, and she hoped that she never would again. Could she ever have imagined when she first came to the South, so full of songs and stories and love, that her going from it would be in darkness, fire and blood? She closed her eyes and listened as the sounds of pain and chaos faded farther and farther away, until finally there was nothing but the pounding of the horse's hooves and the whipping of the wind. She did not open her eyes until a voice said gently in her ear, 'You're alright now, Little Bird, you're alright.'

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Sansa had never slept rough before. She had always been pampered and protected. Her bed was always warm, her food plentiful, her clothes beautiful and neatly laid out. Servants waited on her every whim. The shock of going without what she thought of as these basic rights, was profound. In the rush to leave the Landing, Sansa had taken very little with her, and even less of it was practical. She probably should not have taken her doll, but she couldn't bear to leave her there to burn. Her father's final gift.

On that first night of panic and terror Sansa had been so exhausted that she had slept as soon as she hit the ground. Waking at dawn, she was stiff and sore from the ride and from the hardness of the earth. Cautiously, she looked over in the growing light at the Hound, who seemed to be sound asleep. If she moved quietly, she thought, he would not hear her. Almost as soon as she started to rise, a rough voice rasped, 'It is early yet, girl. Sleep while you can.' Obediently she complied, lying back down and pretending. How had he heard her? He hadn't even opened his eyes, and she had barely moved. Did he not sleep? Last night he had given her his cloak, unasked. Did he not feel the cold? Carefully, Sansa opened one eye and peered over at him again. His face was turned away from her. Does he feel anything, she wondered. He was frightened last night, so yes, he does. And yet he came for me. Why? It didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense anymore. I wish my father were here! Closing her eyes on the tears, she fell asleep.

Sansa woke again to the rough shaking of a huge, calloused hand. For a moment she did not know where she was. She thought her father was calling her. Her eyes opened instead to the sight of a burned and scarred face and she couldn't stop her gasp of shock. The Hound's eyes looked hurt, then angry. 'Still afraid of me, girl? No one like me in any of your songs or poems?' Turning away he snapped sharply at her, 'Your breakfast is over there. Eat quickly, unless you think the monster has poisoned it.' Sansa felt her face burn in shame. The Hound didn't deserve that. Rising slowly and painfully, she handed him his cloak. 'Thank you ser, for your kindness.' The broad, silent back did not respond.