Work Text:
"Stupid girl," Joffrey complains, "she can't even go walk." He's already growing tired of the girl, Sandor marks, not good. Only a week's gone by since he found her pitifully stuck under a fallen tree, and they've finally reached the Inn at the Crossroads, what with all the king's jaunts.
Joffrey continues, "I swear she says the stupidest things, too. What was she saying to Myrcella? Oh, she would steal lemon cakes from the kitchen, as though that's the worst thing she's ever done. She giggled, can you believe it? Then, she asked if I'd like her to sing for me Florian and Jonquil. Sing me songs, I'm the crown prince not some child. Seven hells."
Gods, she's a proper little lady, isn't she? "Aye," is his only response, winning an annoyed glare from his charge.
"See that I'll be ready to join the hunt," Joffrey tells him.
Sandor stalks off, heading to the stables. Nearing, he hears a little whine and looks down to see one of the wolves approaching him. Wants a pet? He snorts at the strange animal, leaning over to scratch behind her ear.
"Lady," He hears Sansa’s sweet voice straining as she calls her wolf.
He looks over to see her smiling, and he looks behind him. "Good day, Sandor," she calls out to him then.
"Little bird," he nods. Somehow, she brightens further, only serving to make his scowl deepen with unease. Others are moving about in the yard, getting horses ready for the hunt, and he’s likely in the way, distracted from his errand. She turns from where she was petting her horse and takes hold of some sort of stick.
"How are you...?" He starts, about to ask how she’s up and moving.
She is quick to respond though, "Oh, very well, thank you. That is, thanks to you. Jory made me this walking stick. Arya is supposed to stay with me, but well, you see," she smiles up at him.
He nods, swallowing before turning to see an unoccupied stable hand gawking at the two of them. "You there, Prince Joffrey's horse, now."
"Is Joffrey going hunting again?" She asks him with only casual interest as she picks her way over.
"Aye.”
"Do you have to go?"
"What else will I do?" He says, with a small laugh.
He wasn't expecting her to suggest, "You could help me with my horse? I would like to see if I can ride.” As though he could just shirk his guard for the day, he looks at her with disbelief.
The stable hand approaches with Joffrey's horse, so he checks over it to make sure everything's in order. "Your own horse, ser?" The man asks.
"Don't call me ser, you idiot. I’ll get my own horse." He glances to see her looking so sad, but what does she expect? He can’t just tell Joffrey he's taking the day for Lady Sansa.
Back to the inn, he enters to find Jaime and Lancel there with the prince, surprising him. Sandor announces, "Your horse is ready, prince." Another day following after the boy.
"Why don't you leave the Hound here to drink himself to a stupor, Joff? I think three lions can handle anything in these parts," Jaime smirks at his nephew.
Joffrey laughs, "Nothing would dare," and then directs to him, "Go drink or whatever dogs do," with a snicker. He nods, turning, at least the other two have the smarts not to laugh. Guess he has Jaime Lannister to thank, Sandor breathes out a little easier, wine and a woman sound good. His feet though are taking him back to the stables. He should check on Stranger.
Arriving there, he kicks himself for noticing she's gone and heads towards his horse’s stall. As he ties a rope halter on him and starts checking him over, he hears behind him, "You there.”
There’s a little dark-haired girl who asks, "You seen my sister?"
"Sansa?" He guesses.
"Aye, you have, haven't you?"
"She was here," he answers. Can't be lost again. "She couldn't have gone far." He makes sure Stranger is secure before turning to the girl who is slipping away.
"Girl," he calls to her, "You shouldn't have left your sister alone."
"She has her wolf."
"Where is yours?"
"Somewhere," she shrugs.
“Well, come here,” he beckons, seeing a little path veering off that could've tempted her. He starts down it, the sister behind, only to see the little bird sitting off of it by the creek. Not far at all. She's surrounded by clover, her dress splayed out over it and her wolf lying next to her.
The sister runs ahead, sharply yelling, "Sansa." Sansa turns, seeing her sister and then him. She smiles just as sweet as before. She shouldn't be real. If her father knew what was best, he'd keep her in Winterfell, hidden in the snow, rather than take her to court. And he should have wine in his belly by now and drinking till he has a real woman under him rather. He is drawn to her though, how couldn't he be? The prince is a fool or worse.
"Would you sit, Sandor?" She says to him as he nears, a string of little flowers on her lap, but he stays standing, watching the water run over the rocks.
"Still want to get back on a horse?" He asks her.
Arya answers, "Please ride again, Sansa, so I don't have to be stuck in the wheelhouse again." He laughs, remembering that day. She won't have to worry about another invitation from Cersei. He hadn’t seen such a pained look on Cersei’s face since Winterfell while Arya all but ran out by the end of the day’s travel.
He's surprised to see the mirthful light in Sansa's eye as she laughs with him and recalls, "I was going to stick you with a needle, Arya, if I heard you sigh one more time and fidget as you looked out the window. And then you said you only stitched direwolves, if you stitched at all, when the queen asked us to sew our favorite flower. I was hoping our mother would show up and save us." He finds it hard not to grin at her now, but he knows what it does to his face.
"Fine," Arya says getting up, "And I'll let Father know you're safe with the Hound." Gods, he swallows, sobering at that thought even if he hasn't had a drop.
"Does Father know you've been playing at swords with the butcher's boy?" Sansa asks her sister, and there’s something of a standoff between them until Arya heads off. He's a bit unsure now, but she acts as though nothing is amiss.
"Now, I sat down, Sandor, but I don't believe I can get up," she looks up to him with a small smile, extending up her little hand.
He takes it quickly, telling her, "You're lucky I happened to come along," with a smirk and taking her other hand to carefully raise her. He grabs for her walking stick as she holds onto his arm.
They head back towards the stable, Sandor slowing his pace and Lady by her mistress's side. "You don't have to be with the prince?" She asks.
"He's with Jaime Lannister, his uncle. Let me have the day."
"Oh, how fortunate. You don't have to help me,” she says, looking a bit guilty.
"If I didn't want to, I wouldn't be here," he says that, but he's not so sure he even understands what he’s doing here.
The yard is all but deserted as they come over the slight hill, the hunting party having left for the day, and it suits him better. Less eyes to see her with him. She's quiet for a minute before saying, "I think I've done too much today, but I want to see if riding bothers it."
"Your stirrup will, unless you ride with someone." He wasn't thinking himself until he sees her start to blush.
"Your horse, does he have a name? Can I see him?" She asks.
"You can't ride him with me, little bird," he tells her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean,” she falters.
"No offense," he says, enjoying her a little flustered before taking her elbow and helping her over to his horse.
"Call him Stranger," he says, hearing her gasp. “Stay back,” he instructs as his large, black destrier stomps his hoof. Always wanting food, the horse snorts trying to find his hand.
"Aww," Sansa says, “He’s beautiful. His coat just shines.”
“He’ll also bite your pretty fingers off, be careful,” Sandor tells her. She laughs lightly and then stumbles a bit, catching herself, but he's there holding her arms steady.
"You're too tired. I'll take you to your room." He says, too harsh.
"No, please don't," she turns in his grasp to look at him. "I've been sewing for days, and even I tire of it."
"Alright," he smirks and goes to grab a stool, helping her to sit by her horse. He then fetches the hand for her tack and then secures it on her mare himself. "What's her name? Princess?" He asks her.
Sansa gives him a little huff in annoyance; she knows he's mocking her this time. He's surprised to regret it. Sansa answers,"She was named Winter. Father says it is a good name for I will remember winter is coming."
“Aye, so it is.”
“They're my house words,” she points out.
"I know."
"Sorry," she says, rather small.
"No need," he says, done, coming over and stooping down in front of her for a moment.
"Thank you, Sandor. Maybe I'll be able to ride with you and the prince when we leave for King's Landing." He exhales hard and looks down. "I don't have to," she says. He realizes in his gut he wants to keep her away from him, not to see that boy anywhere near her. He remembers egging Joffrey on to trade live steel with Stark's boy, making a fool out of them for nothing. How he said he'd kill that howling direwolf after that boy fell and wouldn't die. What would Joffrey want to hear him say he'd do to Sansa? What would he order him to do? She better hope he never becomes king.
"I'm not a good man," he tells her, looking into her pretty blue eyes that scrunch in confusion. He holds his hand up before she can say anything. "You know why I call you little bird?"
She tilts her head, confused more, "No."
"I watched you in Winterfell with the prince. You reminded me of those little birds from the Summer Isles, the pretty ones that chirp everything they've been told to say. Pretty and false."
He can see her deflate, see the hurt he's caused writ on her crumpling face. "Why would you say that to me?" She says breathless in shock.
"Because I'm honest."
"You really think that?" She asks.
"That I'm honest? Yes," he says vehemently.
"No," her tears are coming now, "That I'm just a little summer bird."
"No,” he says the word without thinking.
"No?" She looks at him strangely, still upset, "No what?"
“No, I don't think you're just that. Now let's get you in the inn.” There goes that.
"I want to ride my horse," she says, stronger, looking at the ground as she wipes her face.
"Fine," he says. Then he slips his arms under her, causing her to gasp, and carries her over to place her on her horse. She winces as he places her hurt foot in the stirrup, though he’s careful.
"Use your upper legs to hold yourself," he tells her. She nods to him, and he drapes her reins for her to hold. "Try kicking her sides."
Trying, Sansa whimpers and says, "It hurts my foot."
"It's okay, just use your good leg then."
"Okay.”
He pulls her horse towards the little clover field Sansa was sitting in before, away from the stable yard. "Take her in a circle," he tells her, letting go. Sansa tries but her horse stops to eat the very clover. He laughs hearing her try to talk Winter into not eating it.
Walking over, he slaps its bottom to move, telling her, "Come on, Sansa, pulls its head up. If you want to ride by the prince—" Her next kick catches his shoulder as she takes his words to heart. She's off now, and then she's not stopping. "Pull on the reins, girl!" He starts to run as best he can in his armor after her but dammit. The horse turns, rearing slightly, and he's holding his breath she doesn't fall. Back on the ground, she has her stopped now, and Sandor crosses immediately to grab the bridle on the animal.
"Did I kick you?" She squeaks.
"Are you okay, little bird?" He asks her, catching his breath.
"How can you call me that?" She says, sounding wounded.
He sighs, "I don't mean it cruel, gods." He didn't even think. "I won't then."
"Just don't be ugly when you say it," she says. "I liked it before you said that."
"You're asking me not to be ugly?" He laughs then.
"Sandor."
"Get off this horse." He moves to grab her.
"I'm fine, Sandor, just lead me back." So, he grabs the side of the bit and starts pulling her horse back.
"Can we go somewhere?" She asks next.
"I'd have to saddle my horse."
"Would that be a bother?" She asks so sweetly.
He looks back at her before answering, "Girl, you can't mean to spend all day with me. The morning's gone."
"Why not? Other than." She says rather small. "It's just you rescued me, and I'd like to know you better." Know him?
“I can’t take you somewhere alone.”
“My friend, Jeyne, could come,” she suggests.
“Two maidens,” he laughs.
Back, he ties her horse off and retrieves his tack to saddle Stranger against his better judgment. Taking the Hand's daughter for a ride, he shakes his head in disbelief, but here he is. She sits pretty on her horse, he can see out of the corner of his eye.
He's pulling out Stranger when he sees a knight come up to her on his horse. "Lovely day to ride, Lady Sansa, would you care to?"
He breaks in, "The Lord Hand and Prince are with the King's hunt, I am escort to Lady Sansa."
"But—" the knight attempts again, his gaze fixed on Sansa.
"Thank you, ser, good day." He's surprised to hear her say so curtly polite, though her false smile irks him. She doesn't have those for you, only sweet ones, that is until you were a bastard just earlier.
“Jeyne?” She asks as he’s finishing up preparing his horse.
“No Jeyne,” he answers. Then he attaches a lead to Sansa's mare, mounts Stranger, and tells her in all seriousness, “You have to ride close. I won’t have your horse running off or rearing.”
“Yes, Sandor,” she replies with a little smile, looking excited. He starts to lead them out of the inn yard onto the road. It will be good to have some peace and quiet, not like with the whole retinue. He tugs her mare a little closer, glancing back, and spots Lady trailing after them as well. Does that count as an escort?
They’ll be traveling down the Kingsroad soon enough, so he takes her down the River Road. They follow it for a few miles, all trees and green and blue skies. He knew she would like this, and he was waiting for her gasp at the stone bridge over the river.
“Oh, Sandor, look,” she says to him, and he pulls her horse up even with him.
“I know, little bird, there’s a bridge for the Kingsroad, too.”
“Can we stop?” She looks up at him so hopeful, he’s weaker for that than Dornish red it would seem.
“No,” he tells her at first. She looks so distraught he nearly regrets playing with her. “Of course, we can stop. I’m more used to taking orders than questions from highborn like you.”
He tugs them over to a tree and dismounts, tying up the horses before pulling her down. He helps her over to the bridge to watch along the river, her holding onto him. Her familiarity towards him is as welcome as it is unsettling. To imagine her being this familiar with any other Lannister guard disturbs him if he even considers the possibility.
“Sansa,” he gets her attention. “You know you shouldn’t be out here with me or any man, right? Your father will find out and will not be pleased, or worse. I shouldn’t have.”
“But I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” she says. The truth of her words and how much she believes that presses down on him.
“You don’t know that. Your father won’t believe that.” He carefully places some of her hair back behind her ear from blowing in the breeze over the water. She shouldn’t smile, she should flinch from his hand, but she does the opposite.
“Let’s get you back before your father has to search again,” he says, picking her up and carrying her back to place on Winter’s saddle. The quiet on the way to the bridge is now filled with questions she has about where he’s from, his family, what he does, as he presses them on back to the inn. He answers what he can, but much of it he holds from her. She doesn’t need to know a lot of it, or if she knew she'd not have wanted to. Especially about his brother.
They arrive back before the hunting party, evidently they are going to corner a stag. He was expecting an irate Stark party, but he is able to take Sansa to her room with little acknowledgment. It isn’t until much later that Ned Stark confronts him while on night duty since Cersei had gotten word he'd been on his own for the day.
“Who gave you permission to be Sansa’s escort today? The prince?” Ned says, pointedly.
It would be so easy to lie. He did already overstate his role to that one knight and that is where this accusation must stem. “She was alone and asked for my service. The prince had no need of guard today,” he answers.
Ned continues severely, “You took this upon yourself then. I will question my daughter. Keep away from both my daughters. The King will handle matters if anything untoward has occurred.”
“Question Sansa,” he tells him. It’s not on him if he leaves his daughters defenseless in duty to his king. Maybe that’s why his old gods sent them wolves. “Her wolf was always at her side,” he adds. That seems to give her father pause.
He keeps to the hall, the Lannisters having taken to their quarters as the King’s feast turns to drunken disorder. He tries not to think of her, but after today, he can’t deny it. He can feel her right next to him, her hand holding onto his arm, feel that wisp of red silk hair. If anyone had said he’d be so carried away with the prince’s betrothed. Gods. He was expecting her to want to be away from him at some point, but even when he took her to her rooms, she went slowly and was reluctant to say goodbye. Goodbye Sandor, he can hear it just now.
He takes a deep breath, worried about what the next few weeks will bring. There is no ending for this that he can see, but fuck, if it isn’t sweet. Another breath, and there it is. He walks down the hall to see a tapestry lit up. “Fire,” he yells, and she’s his first thought. Sansa, she can’t walk yet. He goes to her room then, banging the door off its hinges.
“What is it?” The little wolf girl, her sister, yells as she opens the door, and she coughs at the smoke coming in. He pushes the door open, “Fire,” he yells again. Everything is a blur as he tucks her sheet around her and picks her up. The inn is chaos, but he makes it through, the little sister trailing behind him. The wolves greet them on the way out. He gets as far away from the inn as he can, turning away from the inn where flames are starting to engulf the roof.
“It’s okay, Sandor, we’re okay,” he can start hearing her say to him, feel her hands on his face. He looks at her then, images coming through, and he can feel himself shaking. He’s clutching her to him tightly, so he makes himself let go. It hits him then, here he is, having rescued her again, and Joffrey not even a thought until now. This changes everything.