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She'd only meant to step into the woods to call Lady. Sansa knew her wolf would find her way back to her, but they were about to continue down the King's Road. She’d rather known Lady was with her. She grimaces at the pain and tears fall as her own helplessness becomes apparent. How will they find her? After trying to catch sight of Lady at the edge of an embankment, she'd fallen and is now trapped under a log. At least she didn't tumble into the creek at the bottom, but at least then she would've been able to move, though the pain in her leg is mounting.
"Help," she yells to deaf ears or rather no ears. She pushes at the downed tree trunk again to no avail. Her face scrunches as she cries anew, "Anyone!" How can this be happening to her? What will the prince think of her? Will he search for her? Sounds as though a song but hopefully they won't sing of her covered in dirt and twigs in her hair. No, Joffrey can't see her like this.
She'd risen early, but dawn had broken and now she watches the sun’s ascent as seconds go by like hours and every time she screams "help" into the woods, her voice gets hoarser. Desperation takes hold as she wriggles trying to squeeze her numb legs out only to hiss in pain. What if one or both are broken? She cries, imagining herself not able to walk. Poor Mother, her and Bran both crippled! What ill fortune on their house! She won't be able to marry the prince now! She'll never be queen! Her thoughts continue to devolve as she turns into the fallen leaves and sobs.
"Who's there?" She hears a gruff, deep voice call out, then the crunch of rushed steps through the forest.
"Help, help," she yells anew, wiping tears, "Please help me!" She hears him as he labors down the embankment, and she tilts her head to see a large man. His arms grab on to trees to balance, and he sinks into the moist earth as he makes his way down, no armor but a sword at his hip. "Please ser, help me, I'm the Hand's daughter, Sansa."
"Not a ser," he says harsh, making her seize up in fear. "Stop crying, I won't leave you out here."
As he reaches her, his long, black hair shifts to reveal his burns, and her eyes flick down. The Hound! "Did Prince Joffrey send you?" She asks, watching him secure his legs and test out the log.
He laughs, but it is joyless, unsettling her. "How long you here?"
"Hours," she snivels.
"Sun's only been up an hour," he says with obvious amusement.
"What are you doing here?"
"Does it matter? I'm here now." He wraps his arms around the tree trunk, telling her, "Come now, pull your legs out as I lift."
"But they hurt!" He lifts anyway, and she struggles to move her legs. He shifts the log away from her helpfully as he releases it. She looks over her red swollen leg, hearing his hard, panting breaths and feeling his eyes on her. Heat prickles up her neck to flush her cheeks. Why is he looking at her like that?
"I'd rather the prince not see me like this, please?" she says, peeking up to see a smirk on his face, and his eyes flit to her ankle. She hastily pulls at the tattered edge of her dress to cover it.
"You'll need a maester, girl," he points out.
"Yes, please," and she stops herself from saying ser.
He comes around the log to her, his hand out to her. She places her hand in his a slight jolt surprising her, but then his large, warm hand is pulling her up. All of a sudden, pain shoots through her leg, and she lets go. He grabs a hold of her arm then, easing her back down. Moving to kneel in front of her, he takes her leg in his hands slowly. "Does this hurt?" He asks, pressing down her calf. She seizes up as he nears her ankle.
"Yes." She says. His hands feel strange but sure in their purpose.
"Likely just a bad sprain," he says, looking to her, and her eyes avert.
"Can't look at me, can you?" He asks derisively, and her breath hitches as she freezes. His hand is then going to her chin, lifting it, and she finds the courage to return his gaze, though her tears return.
"Please take me to my father," she chokes out.
She sees something soften then in his deep gray eyes. It's only a passing moment as he scowls, saying in his biting tone, "What are you doing out here alone? You don't leave the camp, hear me? There's worse things than me could find you out here."
"I was trying to find Lady, my wolf," she says, shaky.
He purses his lips, shaking his head at her. Her eyes fall, but his grip on her chin lifts, and she returns her eyes to his. "Don't wander around on your own, girl. You're not in Winterfell anymore. Soon you won't be a girl either." He looks expectant at her.
"Can't you use my name?" She asks, regretting her insolence as his brow scrunches at her. His insistence on calling her girl irks her.
His lip twitches, and she swallows, trying hard not to look away. "Going to start using mine?" He mocks her.
"If I knew it," she responds, not wanting to be cowed on this after everything else to try her this morning. His mouth appears slack, and she's surprised at the little burst of triumph she feels at taking him off guard.
"Sandor," he says, his eyes turning serious and challenging. Not a Ser Sandor she knows, feeling impropriety hit her at the thought of addressing him by his first name alone.
"Thank you, Sandor, for saving me," she says, feeling her heart triple in its beats as her eyes lock to his.
He breaks it this time, dipping his head, "Aye, Sansa," he responds, and she swallows hard at hearing him say her name. What is this? Her mind cries out as her heart hammers away still.
"Let's get you back," he says. Before she realizes it, he's scooping her up in his arms. She feels so small compared to him and high above the ground. He holds her tight against him, his arms sure curled around her back and legs. His deep breathing against her as he trails through the forest is lulling her into a peaceful trance as her head falls against his shoulder, looking up at the sky coming through the treetops. It's as though he carries also all the despair she felt, all the worries. He's harsh, no getting around that, but there's something warm there, something that comforts her now as though her father himself is carrying her.
It's not long until they've reached the camp, and she recognizes their tents. Gods be good no one will see her.
"Dog," she hears Joffrey call out and footsteps approaching from behind her. "Is that my lady?"
"Aye," he says, and she tries to hide, keeping her back to the party.
"The Starks just went to find her. Good, hopefully we won't have waste a day." His statement stings her, but she must have misunderstood.
Sandor pushes through a flap in her father's tent and lays her down on a cot. Septa Mordane rushes to her side, but it's Sandor's arm she reaches out for as he pulls away.
"Getting a maester," he tells her before turning away. She hears him speak with the prince but not the words, and Joffrey doesn't enter. She doesn't know if she's relieved he cannot see her in such a state or disheartened he didn't feel the need to see her after her harrowing experience.
The maester comes but not Sandor also, and she's surprised it disappoints her. Soon though, her father returns and Lady with him. She nuzzles at her hand, licking it while her father's worried expression fades with joy at seeing her whole.
Arya trails in, sitting at the end of her cot, speaking up, while she fumbles with a stick, "They said the Hound found you."
She sees her father's jaw tighten at Arya's statement, so she is quick to reassure them. "Yes, he was very helpful. He got me out from under a fallen tree I had slipped under in the fall."
"Oh, lemoncake," her father says, crouching down and squeezing her hand. "I would've found you, believe that. Only glad you weren’t lost longer."
"I was so scared." She lets herself cry anew.
"Don't venture so far, Sansa. What were you doing?"
"Trying to find Lady." She says, with a sniffle.
Arya guffaws, and her father sends her a stern look that quiets her.
"No need for that again," he says. "The maester says you have a bad sprain, won't be able to walk without help for a week or more. Good it's not broken."
"That's what Sandor thought," she says without thinking.
"Sandor Clegane, Sansa, remember your learning." Her father reproves subtly before running his hand over his hair. "I'll have a maid come help you get dressed and clean." He says, exiting.
"You fell?" Arya laughs, "and the Hound had to rescue you. What a song!" Her sister mocks.
"Arya, it's not funny. No one might've found me!"
"No one even knew you were lost yet, and someone found you. You were that close to camp. Stoney Creek is literally right there."
"I was trapped, and I'm a lady. I shan't go so far into the woods again. That is for knights...and other men," she adds, knowing Sandor isn’t knighted.
Arya just shakes her head and leaves as the maid enters.
Joffrey arrived soon after, coming in to kiss her hand. "My lady, I am glad my dog was able to assist you. I hope you are well. I've heard you will not be able to walk or ride, so my mother has invited you to travel in the wheelhouse today. I will escort you there."
"Oh thank you, my prince," she smiles, but she marks the lack of warmth she feels, that is not until she lifts her eyes to find Sandor's gaze. He looks so concerned for a moment before turning from her.
"Right, dog?" Joffrey says, standing, and Sandor hesitates. "What? You carried her here, didn't you?"
He looks to her and she subtly nods, so he picks her up for the second that day, the hardness of his metal less pleasant.
"Clegane!" She hears her father's disgruntled voice as they exit the tent.
"Father, Sandor Clegane is taking me to the wheelhouse."
"Carry on," Joffrey says dismissively, walking ahead, and Sandor carries her after him, much to her father's obvious displeasure.
"Thank you, truly, Sandor," she whispers to him. His eyes look down with a hint of confusion at her, his scowl deepening. She flinches at the pinch of a piece of armor, and he shifts his arm around for her. "That's better," she tells him.
He says nothing until they near the wheelhouse, "Careful what you say, little bird." Careful?
"Oh, what about Lady?" She says sadly, forgetting her wolf in Joffrey's rush to leave.
"Your wolf won't be welcome there," he says with a snort. She looks at him curiously then.
"Careful," he says to her again catching her eyes as he lowers her down. His eyes are away, distant now as he helps her in. Somehow the beautiful smile of the queen feels catlike with Sandor's warning, putting her on edge. She returns a polite smile, but inside she feels unsettled for what this day has brought.
“How lovely to have you here, Sansa, despite your unfortunate incident.” Cersei says to her, and she feels the judgment there. Joffrey’s smug smile in return does little to reassure her.
Careful, she thinks again, remembering how he carried her on his good side, how his gray eyes looked right into her, how warm and strong he felt. She wonders who he truly is? Does he care for her? And what does that mean? A quarrelsome feeling takes root in her stomach as the man who rescued her takes over her thoughts. Hopefully, he’ll be there to carry her when they stop, she sighs, Sandor.