A Journey Home

Sansa opened her eyes. The leaves above her were green, bright, edged with the gold of the rising sun and stirring in a gentle breeze. Birds were singing.

I'm home, she thought. I'm home and I've just woken up from a nap in the Godswood. In a moment Mother will call me and I'll go inside and eat. Everything is as it always was.

She rolled over and looked over at the lump of wool and steel on the other side of the clearing. That's Robb, he's here with me and he's napping too, he'll get up soon and we'll walk into Winterfell together.

A leaf fell on Sansa's cheek. She didn't flinch, she didn't want to move and break the spell of the words she told herself each morning. Maybe this time I'll tell it to myself and it will be true, she thought.

The Hound never stirs in his sleep, she thought. He had slept every night since their escape from King's landing the same way; curled in a low mound of his cloak and his armor, as firm a grip on his sword when he woke up as when he had dropped to the ground.

Sansa sat up and looked around. The forest they had traveled through the night before had given way to glades and beyond them was a field, the tops of the grass showing golden in the morning light. It was colder up here than down near King's Landing, but not really cold, more like a fresh spring morning. The dew that had settled earlier was turning her cloak into a beautiful but chilly rag.

I could get up and run, Sansa thought. I could run across that field into the forest beyond. And what would I run to? I have no idea what is out there, and I'm afraid.

In the days since they had escaped from the fiery horror at King's Landing, Sansa had learned many new things to fear. She had learned to fear the forests at night, filled with noises that made her so panicky it was hard to stumble behind the Hound as he pushed through the trees. She had learned to fear the bite of sharp rocks on her bare ankles, ill protected by the light slippers she had on her feet when the Hound had pulled her out of her chambers and down the castle steps. She had learned to fear the hunger that gnawed into her body more and more every day. But now at least she had learned to no longer fear the Hound.

In King's landing she had never seen him kill anyone besides the men who had attacked her that terrible day in the procession. But here, now, she saw him kill every day, or nearly. The lands around Kings Landing were filled with farmers, soldiers and refugees. When he could, the Hound led them around any people they encountered, but so often they would chance upon some ill fated man who would draw his sword or raise his pitchfork as the Hound strode towards him, and his mouth would form an "O" of surprise as the Hound's sword sliced through him. The first time she saw him cutting the fingers off a body to get at the gold rings, Sansa had retched and sobbed into the dirt. Now when the Hound rifled through bodies, she watched silently, waiting for him to find a bag of bread, or perhaps a couple of onions.

There was a crash in the woods behind them and the Hound was up instantly, hunched over and staring into the thickets, his sword loose in its scabbard. Sansa whirled and gasped, and out of the leaves trotted a young boar. Sansa laughed before she could stop it, and the pig stopped and looked at them. He snuffled and began to run the other way, but instantly the Hound's knife was quivering through his belly. The pig lurched and fell over with a grunt.

"If you've got to laugh at something, get it out now, little bird," said the Hound. "You'd find precious little to laugh at if you'd scared away your breakfast." He looked at her, his hair falling over his scarred pink face, breathing heavily. After a moment he got up and strode to the boar, pulled his sword out of it and kneeled awkwardly beside it. Sansa was still clutching her robe as he began cutting.

"I'm sorry, ser" she said, tripping over the words. "I didn't mean to laugh. It just looked so funny standing there, like it… like it was surprised."

"Aye, I reckon it was surprised," he said as he began to saw the pig up its belly. "No one ever expects to die. But they do all the same." He grunted as he broke its ribs open to pull out the heart. His voice was gruff and raw.

Sansa blinked, and looked at him. She watched his hands as he butchered the pig and gathered wood for a fire. I have only ever seen him in armor, she thought. He's always got it on, even when he sleeps.

"How many men have you killed?" She had never asked him that before.

"Men?" he said, slashing through the body with his dagger. "Many. More than I can count. I've killed women too. And babies. I've killed some babies." He looked at her again. "And now I've killed a pig. Does that offend you, little bird? Or will you be happy to eat the thing I've killed?" His voice was low and rough as a saw. "Now come here little bird, and start this fire."

Sansa rose with a little stumble and went to the pile of kindling the Hound had gathered. All this journey they had been hungry because the Hound refused to start any fires and Sansa had never done it before. Her knuckles were red and scabbed from hitting the flint and the steel dagger together badly.

She bowed her head and began to hack the blade. "I only meant…that you must have seen that look on many men's faces. You must have watched a lot of people die."

"I don't wait around to watch the life drain away from them, little bird. When you kill someone, they're dead. You can't pray to the seven for every one. That's for someone else to do. My job is just to get my sword through them." Sansa did not look up from the sparks she was coaxing into flame, but she could hear him pause at his work. His voice was low. "We all die sooner or later, little bird. The ones on my blade should be happy. Some do their killing slow, and I bet the men they're killing would be glad to have me come and end it with a quick knife. Believe me, little bird, there's worse things than a quick death."

He stabbed his dagger through a haunch and held it out to her.

Sansa looked at him for a moment, then rose and walked to where he was kneeling in a mound of blood and skin. She took the dagger from his hand.

"Thank you, Ser," she said. And sat down to roast her meat.

That day they stayed in the woods and only moved after they had eaten and slept again. They walked as they always did, the Hound going first with his tall stiff back in front of her, silently hacking out a path while Sansa walked behind. They had barely spoken ten sentences since heading north, it seemed.

The sun was just above the treetops when they finally broke out of a copse and looked out at a small lake. There were no huts or boats on it, just birds landing for an evening feed. There was a small beach just ahead of them, and the calm still glass of the water lapped gently on the shore. Frogs were singing in the rushes.

The Hound stopped and looked around them. "I'm tired," he said. "I'm tired and I want to rest here. We won't walk tonight. There's no one here, we're beyond the farmers now. No fire tonight. I'll be back shortly. You'll be safe here. Or is that not pleasing to you, m'lady?" he said, looking down at her, his face twisted and hard. Sansa looked up at him quickly, surprised. He never called her m'lady. He must be very angry.

"Of course, my lord." The hound grunted and walked the water's edge, disappearing behind a rocky outcrop. Sansa looked around her for a place to squat. She had been exquisitely embarrassed on this journey every time she had to tell the Hound she needed the privacy of a hedge. Still worse was that he had to stand guard nearby while they were still within striking distance of King's Landing. Here he did not seem to care what she was doing. She walked the other direction along the shoreline and pushed through the tall golden grasses towards a clump of bushes.

When she stood up again and smoothed her skirts she looked out for a moment over the lake. It was lovely, the first lovely thing she had seen in many, many weeks. She closed her eyes and listened to the birds singing their evening songs, to the calm hush of the waves. The evening air moved softly against her cheek .

Sansa sighed and opened her eyes. She turned and walked back towards the beach, but when she came around the corner of the bushes she froze.

Across the small inlet the Hound was standing in the water. His armor and gear were piled on the shore and he was naked, splashing the water over his head. The sun turned his white body pale gold, purpled here and there with healing bruises. Sansa stared at him, at his broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms as he ducked his head under and splashed the cold water over himself. She watched the drops trickling down the brown curling hair on his chest, over his hard belly, down the grooves of muscles to his thighs. She felt a flush rising up her face, but she didn't look away. She watched as he finished scrubbing at his arms, sat in the water, and let his head hang, exhausted. Suddenly Sansa realized that if he looked up he would see her standing there. Her chest began pounding, and she ducked her head and backed away around the bushes. She hunkered down as small as possible and looked west across the meadow to where the sun was finally slipping behind the hills. It took a long time for her heart to beat quietly again.

When she came back to the beach he was dressed in his armor, chewing on a cold boar leg. He looked up at her as she approached, and held out the other. She took it from him without meeting his eyes and sat on the sand beside him. As she chewed she looked at him sideways; he was staring out over the lake at the few stars that were beginning to glimmer.

"What will you do after we get to Winterfell, ser?" she asked quietly after a few moments.

The Hound chewed his meat and swallowed. "I'm not a Ser. Don't call me that."

"What should I call you then?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment. "Some call me Dog," he rasped.

"I won't call you that," she snapped. "Joffrey called you that. I'd never call you that." She felt the words of hate and anger bubbling up in her throat. "I hate…I hate that name. I hate how he used to say it. I hate how he used to say 'my lady' -" She stopped short and stared out at the water, clutching the boar leg tightly. Why couldn't she say the words, even here? Joffrey was far away, there was no one here but the Hound to hear them. Her chest heaved and she flung the meat away from her suddenly and bit her lip, her eyes blurring over. Even now her throat was too tight to speak.

Beside her the Hound was silent. He put his meat down.

"I remember the way he said it. I remember when he used to call you stupid. I remember when he had you beaten. Him and his men are far away. He's likely dead now, little bird. He's not going to hurt you ever again. Forget him."

Sansa swallowed and then sobbed as tears streamed down her cheeks. She hid her face in her hands and mewled. Finally, her cheeks hot and damp, she sniffled and drew deep breaths. And beside her on the sand she could feel the Hound, just sitting. She reached out in the darkness and found his hand, warm and calloused. She brought it to her face and pressed it to her cheek, her eyes shut tight as her last sob shuddered out of her, then let it go. After a moment he rose and walked back to the trees. Sansa huddled her cloak around her and curled up where she was, and after a few minutes, fell asleep.

She was back in the throne room at King's Landing, on her knees. Joffrey sat in front of her on the Iron Throne, one leg over the arm, sneering at her. All the courtiers and the Kingsguard stood in a ring around her, chanting and shouting and throwing dung.

"You're a stupid, traitorous whore! You'll die here! Ser Ilyn! Bring your sword!"

Ser Ilyn came forward, staring at her, unsheathing Ice from his back. His eyes glittered as he advanced on her. He opened his mouth and where his tongue had been she saw a dark dragon's head, writhing and struggling and spitting. Joffrey was standing on the throne now, screaming, his face red. "Kill her! Kill her!"

Suddenly there was a man standing in front of her, a man with bright silver armor and beautiful curling hair. "Ser Ilyn!" shouted Ser Loras, "stop or I will kill you myself!"

Ser Ilyn paused, but then kept coming. Ser Loras grabbed Ice from his hands and ran it though his open mouth, then leaped up onto the dais and with one stroke took Joffrey's head from his body. All the courtiers and soldiers shrieked and began to dissolve into silvery smoke.

Ser Loras came towards her and offered his hand. "You're all right, m'lady, you're safe now." She looked up at his face, wreathed in roses from the bushes that suddenly surrounded them. They were in the gardens of Highgarden castle. I've never been there, Sansa thought. Ser Loras took her other hand and gently laid her down on the scented mossy ground, gazing into her eyes. "You are all right, m'lady. I'm here with you now." His hand touched her cheek, and then caressed her neck, her chest, her breast and down to her belly. Now Sansa felt a painfully delicious fullness between her legs as he continued stroking her thighs. Under her silk dress her breasts felt tingles. She began gasping. "You're alright now, little bird," he said, but his face was in shadow now and the roses were crowding around them. She reached up to touch his beautiful face and ran her fingers over his pink boyish lips, but now she couldn't see him at all and she was crying out as a spike of pleasure made her feel the hard beating of blood inside her. Now all was darkness around her and she felt his hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

"Little bird, you're alright, wake up," she heard. Sansa gasped as the last pulse of her pleasure coursed through her body and reached up her hand to the dark figure above her. Her hand touched not Ser Loras, but the Hound. She felt his cheek, the bristles of his dark beard, his brow and the soft skin around his eye. She sighed and slipped her thumb over his lips, feeling his hot breath against her fingers. He jerked and then grew still. In the darkness, awake now, she held her breath and let her fingers trace down his cheek and caress his jaw, then she reached up and drew her fingertips slowly, lightly down his temple, around his ear and softly down his neck. His hand on her shoulder gripped harder but he didn't move. Sansa shrugged it off and sat up so that now she was facing him in the darkness. She could hear his breath coming quicker, raggedly in and out. Now she reached up both hands and cupped both sides of his face, the scarred and the whole. She touched the scar on one side and the skin on the other, and felt his eyes underneath her hands. His lashes fluttered against her palms as he blinked, and she heard him catch his breath.

"You, you were calling out in your sleep, I thought you were hurt," he said roughly.

"I'm not hurt," she whispered, and moved her hands down over his armor, feeling the taut muscles of his chest under the chain mail and leather. She leaned closer until she could feel his face an inch away from hers. Heat was radiating off of him and she felt warmth spreading in her own chest. "I'm alright," she whispered into his ear. Now that she was this close she could feel him shuddering as he held so still. "It's alright now," she breathed, and her lips touched his cheek.

He grabbed her hands roughly and pushed her away, but didn't let go. "Little bird," he rasped. "Little Bird." Now his voice was catching.

"Yes," she said. "Yes." She leaned towards him again, her hands caught in his.

"Go back to sleep. We're leaving in the morning," he said gruffly and rose stiffly, his armor creaking. He stood in front of her and then clanked away into the darkness. She heard him lower himself to the ground and then grow still. Sansa sat there, hugging her knees and staring out at the stars reflecting in the lake. After a long time, she lay back down.