Chapter Text
Sansa did not speak for almost a week after that. The pair remained in the clearing for several days to allow Sansa's saddle sores to heal. When she decided her thighs were sufficiently healed, Sandor awoke to Ivy saddled and packed, and Sansa in the clothes most suitable for riding. She waited patiently as Sandor prepared Stranger for their journey.
When they exited the trees, the rising sun was to Sansa's right shoulder. They were heading north.
During the day, they rode at an steady pace, stopping occasionally to fill their water skins in a stream or to catch a fish or two for the night's supper. They were in the Riverlands now, so streams were abundant.
At night, they silently ate what they had and sat by the small fire Sandor allowed them. The warmth of summer was slowly leaving Westeros, but the fire fought away some of the chill.
Many a night, Sansa sat awake, tossing and turning. She relished the few hours a night she spent in the bliss of sleep. Her dreams brought her the most joy, flying over the Riverlands as an owl, she supposed because of her keen eyes in the dark. Spying prey and catching it in her talons; she felt so powerful in those dreams.
One night, her sister appears in her bird dream. As Sansa flies over a castle with walls melting like ice, Arya approaches a man near the gate as two boys hide behind a wall. The man bends down to pick up the coin, a strange thing, and Arya slices his throat. The glint in her eyes frightens Sansa, but she sees pain there, and grief. The dreams stop for a while after that.
xxx
It is an hour past sun down when Sansa speaks again, her voice cracking slightly from underuse. "I was thinking," she started looking at Sandor's back across the fire. "That perhaps-"
The crack of a twig was the only warning as a knife was pressed against her throat. And unfamiliar, gruff voice leaned in close to her ear and she could smell putrid meat. His breath came in odd hissing noises, "Make one sound and I'll slit your pretty little throat."
She realized her mistake as soon as she glanced back at Sandor. They'd come across a wagon, crashed and burned on the side of a hill. Most of the supplies were destroyed, but there were several wine skins that looked practically untouched.
Sansa did not care for wine, especially of unknown origin on a hill in the middle of nowhere, but wine was wine to Sandor. And he had drunk his fill.
Was it poisoned or was he just unconscious from the wine? Was he dead? Had they killed him?
She saw the glint of the blade reflecting on the ground before she felt its sting, unconsciousness came seconds later. The last thing she saw was Sandor stirring in his sleep, as a bag was pulled over her head.
xxx
In her dreams, she flew over Winterfell. These were not like her others, for she had never ventured this far north before. they were not like her dreams of home either. In those dreams, Winterfell did not stand in ruin. It did not smolder as smoke as black as a raven rose into the sky.
She tried to fly away from the ruins she once called home, but she found she could not control her body.
She circled the wreckage, over and over until she spotted something in the newly fallen snow, tracks. A large pair of boots, another smaller pair, and the last smaller still made them. The outline and meaning was distinct to her keen, avian eyes. The tracks that most drew her attention were those of a large wolf. They were much too large to be anything but a direwolf. And there were two.
In this dream, she spent more time than she ever had. She flew over fields and homes, further and further north and yet she could not find the things for which she was searching.
Her wings grew tired, it was harder and harder to keep her body aloft. The cold wind bit at her wings, pushing her off course. She was a summer bird, not accustomed to the harsh winds of winter. She took shelter in a tree, and closed her eyes, and her dream changed.
The keen eyes of an eagle opened. Swift and strong and resistant against the cold. Winter would come, and she would be ready.
xxx
When Sansa regained consciousness, she could feel the confines of her body more acutely than before. Her shoulder was sore and she felt as though she had not moved in an age, her head ached, and her wrists were chaffed where they were bound tightly behind her back. She had no idea how long she was asleep, but it was no mid-afternoon nap. Sansa considered screaming for help, but her mouth was stuffed with cloth and tied tightly behind her head. The dampness of the cloth indicated to her that her captors had dripped water in her mouth not long before she regained consciousness, or that she had not been unconscious long. The pain in her side indicated the former.
She pushed herself into a sitting position and attempted to stand, but her foot was asleep and she could not manage it. The room she was being kept in was small with a dirt floor and wooden walls. In the dark, it was easy to find the door. A light was shining through the crack under the door and as she scooted closer, she heard raucous laughter, and the sound of clinking mugs.
"I must be in an inn of some sort," Sansa thought to herself as she saw a pair of shadows dance past under the door.
Her suspicions were confirmed when the beginnings of The Bear and the Maiden Fair made its way to her ear. It was not one of her personal favorites, but she had heard it at many a feast and it reminded her of home. A crack in the slats of the door offered just enough room for Sansa to see a sliver of the room.
As she scanned the tables, a terrifying man came into view. He was a short man, with dark hair and eyes that sparkled with malice, but the most terrifying thing about his face was his nose, or his lack of one. Where his nose should have been, two holes were in its place, as though someone had sliced it off at the root. The man next to him had teeth filed to points that showed when he laughed at the young serving wench who tripped over his boot.
She watched the noseless man for several minutes as he ate and drank his fill, but when he got up to retire, something else caught her eye. Under his arm, he carried Sandor's helm.