Chapter Text
She knew Sandor was deeply unhappy, but there was nothing Sansa could do about that, and as there were other matters which demanded her attention, she did her best to let go of her concerns about him for the moment.
What should she write to her mother? What could she say that was both truthful and would not get her into trouble with the Lannisters? Were there any secrets she had to share that would mean anything to her mother or sister?
Sansa honestly could think of very little. She was well. Ser Lancel was handsome and his mother was kind. She had everything she needed here. What else was there? She could hardly share that Sandor had asked her to run away with him and she desperately wanted to accept, or that the thought of marrying anyone named Lannister made her stomach turn. In the end she decided to be honest and just say she missed them all, and hoped they’d be together again soon. It wasn’t much, but Sansa hoped it would be enough to put her mother’s mind at ease for the time being.
She did not say how bored she was with her routine - breaking her fast in her chamber, followed by sewing, reading, or music with Lady Dorna and Janei, tea and a stroll in the gardens, then dinner with Ser Lancel and his mother. It was the same thing every day. Without any friends to gossip with and share interests and secrets, Sansa was very lonely. Only Sandor truly knew her, but he was a poor substitute for her old friend Jeyne Poole.
She wasn’t needed for any kind of household management, either; the Rock was run quite efficiently already, and she was not to be its lady any time soon, anyway - only the good-daughter of the second son. She was not needed to review the ledgers, which was fine since she’d never been any good at sums. She was not needed to purchase provisions or plan events or entertain visitors. She was not needed for anything at all; she was useless. She couldn’t even bear children yet. Her only duty was to be a hostage and to be kept out of the way of Lord Bolton’s control of the North.
Sansa knew that she’d be wedded and bedded as soon as she’d had her first blood. She didn’t know whether to pray that it came soon or that it would wait; she was afraid of being bedded, afraid of childbirth, but at the same time she deeply wished for a purpose to her life and for someone she could truly love and who could love her back. Even Queen Cersei had said a woman couldn’t help loving her children. She certainly did not expect love from Ser Lancel, and Sandor - well, that was impossible.
Thinking back to that pivotal day at the Red Keep when she’d pushed King Joffrey off the battlement, Sansa still had no regrets. Many things had happened since then, and she couldn’t say whether she’d made her life better or worse by doing it, but still she was glad she had. Joffrey had been evil and cruel; he’d killed her father, threatened her brother, and had Sansa herself beaten by the Kingsguard. He was a terrible king. If Sansa hadn’t killed him she was sure he would have done much worse things, both to her and to the Seven Kingdoms as a whole.
And yet, some things hadn’t changed or were even worse now. She was still betrothed to a Lannister and being held prisoner by them, and her family were all hostages, whether of Lord Frey or Lord Bolton. Had she somehow caused all that?
No. Sansa felt certain that she’d done the right thing, that the world was better off without another mad king.
When Ser Lancel found her the next day in the library, she had just finished writing the letter to her mother, with Sandor standing guard nearby.
“Are you finished?” he asked, reaching for the pages. Sansa nodded and handed them to him.
“Yes Ser, I’ve finished,” she replied. Lancel read quickly over what she’d written, before handing it back to her.
“You’ll want to add to it, perhaps,” he said, smiling as if he knew a juicy secret.
“Oh? And why is that, Ser?” asked Sansa, her curiosity piqued.
“You and I are to accompany my father to King’s Landing for the royal wedding,” said Lancel. “I’m finally getting out of this backwater and back to the city!” He looked so pleased, but she didn’t understand why.
“Are you so very unhappy at Casterly Rock?” she asked.
“It’s dull as dirt here,” he replied. “Nothing to do, nothing ever happens, and the people…” her betrothed looked at her disdainfully. “No offense, my lady, but the people are dull too. Being nursemaid to a child bride is not what I hoped for in life.”
Sansa sucked in a breath sharply. She was hurt, though it confused her. She didn’t want to be betrothed to him any more than he wanted her, but still his words stung.
“That’s beside the point, though,” continued Ser Lancel. “We’re to leave for King’s Landing as soon as possible, so add that to your letter to your mother. Perhaps Lord Walder will see fit to let at least one member of your family attend. After all, the Starks are traitors to the Crown; one of you should swear fealty to King Tommen.” Sansa’s cheeks heated at being called a traitor. She didn’t want to go back to King’s Landing ever again, to stand in court and be jeered at and abused. She lifted her chin and peered at him sharply.
“What if I don’t want to go to King’s Landing and swear fealty to King Tommen?” she challenged boldly. Ser Lancel’s hand lashed out like a snake and slapped her cheek with a loud crack; her head was whipped to the side so hard her neck flared with pain. Sansa raised a hand to her stinging cheek, tears filling her eyes. She could see Sandor looming behind her betrothed, his expression full of wrath and danger.
“You will do as you are told, girl,” hissed Lancel, “and you will never speak to me like that again, do you hear?” His voice rose in volume as he finished speaking, until he was yelling at her, and Sansa quailed before him.
Before she could formulate a response, Sandor grabbed Ser Lancel by the neck and threw him against the nearest wall face first. There was a sickening crunch and blood exploded out of his shattered nose; he left a broad red smear on the wall as he slid down to the floor in a heap.
Sansa looked down at the unmoving man on the floor, his neck bent at an impossible angle, and felt nothing at all.
“We’re leaving, little bird. Now,” Sandor said, and she nodded.
“Yes.”
The flight from the Rock turned out to be a lot easier than he’d expected.
They hid the body as best they could, then Sandor and Sansa returned to her chambers where she changed quickly into riding clothes, and, he was astonished to see, unearthed his tourney gold from the bottom of one of her trunks. They stuffed a spare cloak into the bag to stop the coins from clinking, and then she put all of her jewels, including the sapphire ring, into another bag.
“To sell,” she told him, and Sandor’s mouth turned up at one side in a feral smile.
“That’s my little bird,” he told her, placing a kiss on top of her head before leading her out the door and down the hall.
“Isn’t there anything you need, Sandor?” asked Sansa, and he shook his head.
“I’m wearing my armor and weapons already,” he pointed out. “There’s nothing else for me here.”
As they approached the stable, they slowed their pace and Sandor stepped back to walk behind Lady Sansa, as was proper. The same sentries were there, bruised and haggard looking, and they didn’t say a word as he showed her inside. He saddled both of their horses as swiftly as possible, then led them out into the courtyard and helped Sansa mount Beauty. Once she was settled in the saddle, Sandor swung onto Stranger’s back and led the way calmly out into the open, as if they were merely going for a casual ride in the country.
“Where are we going, Sandor?” Sansa asked him as they followed the road at a steady pace.
“Lannisport,” he replied.
“Won’t that be the first place they look for us?” she asked astutely, and he nodded.
“Most likely, yes,” said Sandor, “but we have a good head start and there are forty thousand gold dragons that say we’ll find a ship to take us anywhere we want to go.”
“But surely we’ll be seen,” she pointed out, and he shrugged.
“That’s inevitable no matter where we go, but it’s forty miles from here to the port,” Sandor informed her. “It will be dark by the time we get there; that should help.”
“You make it sound like we’re relying on an awful lot of luck, Sandor,” said the little bird nervously.
“We are, but it’s the best chance we have,” he admitted. “Once we’re out at sea they won’t know which way we’ve gone.”
“And where are we going?” persisted Sansa.
“Where would you like to go?” he asked, truly uncertain himself.
“I’d like to go north, to the Wall I think,” she replied, surprising him. “My half-brother Jon is there, as are most of the Stark bannermen who survived the Twins.”
“The Wall is no place for a lady,” he countered. “Besides, what do you expect them to do? The Night’s Watch takes no part in politics, remember? Plus it’s fucking freezing up there.”
“Where else could we go then?”
“What about Dorne?” he suggested. “Nice and warm, and the Martells are no friends of the Lannisters.” The little bird looked thoughtful for a moment, and Sandor reflected on how lovely she was with that little frown line between her eyebrows. He wanted to smooth it away.
“That may be our best option, actually,” she said. “You’re right that the Martells hate the Lannisters just as much as we Starks do. There’s still some risk they might decide to use me for a trade of some sort, but I don’t know what other viable options we have.”
“If the Dornish try to trade you, we’ll run from them, too,” Sandor promised, meaning every word of it. “I will never let you be a prisoner again, little bird, and from Sunspear it’s only a short hop to Essos.”
—---------------------------
They had almost made it to Lannisport when the guards caught up with them. As the red cloaks approached, Sandor reached over and grabbed her, pulling Sansa off her horse and across his legs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, frightened and confused.
“We’re caught, little bird,” came the hoarse reply. “Tell them I killed him, tell them I kidnapped you and made you come with me.”
“No I won’t! Sandor you can’t, they’ll kill you!” Sansa cried, weeping and beating his chest with her fists. “No!”
“If you don’t they’ll kill us both, Sansa,” Sandor cupped her cheek gently and kissed her forehead. “Remember the words, little bird: ‘I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”
A sob tore from her lips, and was quickly stifled by Sandor’s hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing.
“I’m sorry, little bird,” was the last thing she heard before everything went black.
Sansa woke in her bed back at the Rock with a sore throat and a terrible headache. Confused, she sat up, and then everything came rushing back to her and she buried her face in her hands.
“No,” she whispered to herself. “Oh gods please no.”
She got out of bed and pulled on a robe. Looking in the mirror she could see the shape of Sandor’s massive hand on her neck in the form of livid purple bruises. She stared at them for a long time, until her handmaid knocked on the door and let herself in.
“My lady, you’re awake,” said Juli kindly. “Are you well?” Sansa didn’t answer for a long time.
“What happened to him?” she asked finally, her voice hoarse and painful. The handmaid’s face hardened.
“You needn’t fear the Hound any longer, Lady Sansa,” she replied. “He was hanged at dawn for the murder of Ser Lancel. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”
Sansa nodded slowly.
“Thank you Juli,” she said. “You may go. I won’t be needing you.”
“But my lady, you must get dressed,” objected the woman. Sansa shook her head.
“I said you may go.”
Juli stared at her for a few moments before turning on her heel and leaving the room in a huff.
Sansa looked in the mirror once more and placed her hand over the marks of his fingers, as if touching him one last time. She padded to the door on quiet feet and locked it, before moving to the open window. She looked out and saw only blue sky above, and the Sunset Sea far, far below. She stepped up onto the sill as the wind whipped her nightgown and robe around her legs.
As she fell to her death, Sansa realized:
It was just like in a song.