
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2711048.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark, Cersei_Lannister/Jaime_Lannister, Melisandre
      of_Asshai/Stannis_Baratheon, Oberyn_Martell/Daenerys_Targaryen
  Character:
      Sandor_Clegane, Sansa_Stark, Daenerys_Targaryen, Oberyn_Martell, Jon
      Snow, Tyrion_Lannister, Cersei_Lannister, Jaime_Lannister, Arya_Stark,
      Stannis_Baratheon, Melisandre_of_Asshai
  Additional Tags:
      sansan, Sandor_Clegane_-_Freeform, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon, Minor
      Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark, Sansa_&_Sandor_-_Freeform, Sandor_Clegane/
      Sansa_Stark_-_Freeform
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-03 Updated: 2014-12-15 Chapters: 3/? Words: 6965
****** The Sunspear And The Last Dragon ******
by TheThreeEyedRaven
Summary
     Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true.
     From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and
     Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle
     of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a
     spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the
     king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the
     Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two
     wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in
     any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's
     capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's
     reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry
     Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story
     will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the
     Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an
     the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no
     one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As
     the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the
     old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold?
     Stay tuned to find out.
Notes
     Please comment! This is a collaboration work and it will have many
     chapters before we are finished.
     It has been a while since we have posted a story, so take it easy on
     us!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** The Escape From Kings Landing - Sansa *****
Chapter Summary
     Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true.
     From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and
     Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle
     of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a
     spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the
     king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the
     Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two
     wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in
     any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's
     capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's
     reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry
     Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story
     will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the
     Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an
     the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no
     one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As
     the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the
     old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold?
     Stay tuned to find out.
Her bedchamber was black as pitch. Sansa barred the door and fumbled through
the dark, to the window. When she ripped back the drapes, her breath caught in
her throat. The only sound she could hear, was that of her heart ringing in her
ears… Dudunk, over and over, the sound echoed… Ser Ilyn is here to take me her
head thought… He would, tears filled her eyes. Cersei had proclaimed, ‘Stannis
may take the city and he may take the throne, but I will not suffer him to
judge me. I do not mean for him to have us alive.’ I will not suffer the same
fate as my Father, I will not. It was dark in her chamber; she only possessed a
single skinny, tall candle. She used her hand to shelter the flame.
Her head was swimming from the wine. The southern sky was aswirl with glowing,
shifting colors and the reflections of the great fires that burned below. This
was something she didn’t want to think about, but the green light, danced on
the tide and the color shifted with the waves through her bedroom window.
Sansa backed away from the window, retreating toward the safety of her bed.
I’ll go to sleep, she told herself, and when I wake it will be a new day.
Stannis would have taken the city, he won’t hurt me, she thought. “I am the
first born daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. Surely, he will honour my Father's
loyalty to his cause,” she whispered aloud. Her heart hurt, as she began to
feel like the small walls of The Red Keep were driving her mad, much like the
Mad King himself. “Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her
wolf again when she was dead. Am I to live? Or shall I die?… The thought made a
knot in her stomach, she closed her eyes and she could see her Father, see his
face as Joffrey ordered Ser Ilyn “Bring me his head!”
Suddenly something stirred behind her, and a hand reached out of the dark and
grabbed her wrist. She opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped
down over her face, smothering her. His fingers were rough and callused, and
sticky with blood. “Little bird. I knew you’d come.” The voice was a drunken
rasp. She saw him for a moment, all black and green, the blood on his face was
as dark as tar, his eyes glowing like a dog’s in the sudden glare.
He’s drunk, she thought… “If you scream I’ll kill you. Believe that.” He pulled
his hand from her mouth. He had a full flagon of wine and it rested on the
small table next to her bed. He placed it to his lips and took a long pull…
The green flames from the black water danced on the burnt side of his face.
“Bloody dwarf. Should have killed him. Years ago. He’s dead, they say.” She was
filled with fright, a cold shiver ran up her spine. He is drunker than I’ve
ever seen him she thought.
“Why, why are you here?”
“The Blackwater is on fire,” he mumbled. “I’m Going.”
 
She tried to wriggle free, but his grasp was iron. “Going where?” Sansa
proclaimed.
Sandor took a deep breath, “North maybe, could be, I could take you home… Take
you to Winterfell, they are all afraid of me, no one would stand in our way.”
Her throat was dry and tight with fear.
“Stannis won’t hurt me” she said.
Sandor grab her arm even tighter than before. “Look at me” Sansa eyes opened
wide. “The Lannisters are killers, Stannis is a killer, your Brother, your
Father, they are all killers, so you best get used to looking at them”. There
was a kindness in his eyes, a understanding that she hadn’t noticed before.
 
Sansa let the words escape her lips. “You won’t hurt me?” Sandors voice was
harsh and it broke as he spoke.
“No Little Bird, I won’t hurt you”. Sandor started to walk to the door, his
hand reached towards the bolt that held the door tightly shut.
“Wait!” would she go?
“Wait?” he huffed like a dog, barely turning his gaze to look back at her. “You
don’t want to go with me.” There was some kind of hurt in his voice. Maybe it
was for the fact that he knew he’d get paid to take her home; after all, she
was high born, and no one knew where Arya was. That made her the only high born
daughter of the Stark’s that was known.
“I’ll go,” Sansa was breathless, and part of her hair fell in her eyes. The
crimson gleam blocked her vision. “I’ll go with you. If I stay here, Joffrey
will win. I’m a slave to his will.”
“Fuck the king,” Sandor hissed. “You cannot take much, little bird. You must
leave behind your fancy treasures. They cannot come with you.”
The bird pushed her hair back from her eyes, and gave a small smile to Sandor.
But her tattered cloak would do. She swirled it around her body, tying it in
place and picking up her sentimental item she could not leave, the doll her
father gave her. With one last look at the place she’d so recently been forced
to call home, she followed close behind Sandor and left the Red Keep. If I come
here again, it’ll be to meet the same fate my father had, she thought.
They walked closely, reaching Sandor’s horse, and mounting it with ease. Sandor
pulled Sansa onto the horse, having no problems with it and climbing up with
her. It made Sansa nervous for him to have his hands on her. But she remembered
the last time a man put his hands on her, and how Sandor was the one who saved
her. That memory had long since passed, and she was trying to look at the road
ahead. So young, and maybe having to grow up far too fast.
The Mud Gate was riddled with bodies, some still a flame, some black as pitch.
No one, said a word as they weaved through the mounds of steaming flesh; but
Sansa could see the eyes upon her. She pulled her cloak tighter, hoping it
would hide her crimson hair. “Hold on Little Bird” Sansa heard Sandor say.
Stranger seemed to have the same fear of fire as his master did, and he broke
into a full gallop the moment they cleared the twisted, burned corpses.
My new life begins, she thought, tightening her eyes shut as her heart raced.
They rode for an eternity, Sansa could feel the stiffness in her joints; truth
be told, she hadn't ridden like this since she was a child.
Sansa forced herself to open her eyes as they came to a sudden stop. “Where are
we?” she said, the word sticking in her throat. She looked around, the fog was
thick and traces of smoke twirled and danced within it. Sandor was so quiet. It
was unbearable to not know what was going on. The thoughts were stuck in her
mind. “Are we to sleep here?” suddenly she was filled with fear and Sandor’s
continued silence confirmed her dread.
“I told you!” He rasped.
 
“You will have to do without your highborn fancies,” the bird mocked, and felt
stupid shortly after. I am a stupid girl. The stress of this ride had done so
much, and now she tried to hold back her tears that had been welling in her
soft, ice colored eyes, but it was no use. The battle, the escape, it was too
much. This was one of those nights she’d have nightmares about for the next
fortnight. Adding another curse to her mind, curses that Kings Landing had
brought, and Joffrey along with it. It wasn’t her father's fault, how could he
have known? Maybe it was his fault, now, that she was beginning to think like a
rebel; time to turn against the capitol. Thoughts trotted through her mind
about her family, and how they were all fighting for revenge and she hadn’t
done a single thing for her father. She was captured, and left to die like the
rotting corpses of Joffrey’s foes, that hung atop the walls of the castle. But
Sandor had given her a chance she never knew she had. Now with a second chance,
maybe she can make this end differently.
But she was nothing but a little bird, as Sandor called her. Lost, alone and
weak; the thoughts of a Stark had to be somewhere in her mind. Somewhere, there
was a wolf’s mind, and now more than ever, she had to find it.
Sandor pulled the blanket from behind Stranger's saddle and laid it under at
the feet of a great Ironwood tree. He walked to wear Sansa sat across
Stranger’s back, a placed his hand softly on her waist. “You’ll be needing your
rest girl, if they aren’t all dead, they’ll come looking for us before long.”
His words were more gentle than she had ever heard them; and although she was
frightened, cold and every muscle in her body tensed with each breath she took,
she found comfort in them. And as he set her down, and walked away, her knees
weakened with angst.
“Yes my… Yes, Sandor,” catching herself before she could utter that phrase that
she had otherwise believed would anger him. Certainly if I called him ‘My
Knight’ he’d fuss about it. She remembered how he was the first time she’d seen
him. riding into Winterfell, adoring his dogs helm, it seemed all but lost,
now. But she remembered someone calling him a knight, and him grumbling at
them. At this moment, she didn’t have the strength to fight with him.
The ground was hard, but she was free; freer than she had been since she left
the North. Oh how the feeling relieved her. It was as if she’d drank too much
wine, and walked a thousand miles, as her head spun.
“You alright, girl?” he narrowed his eyes at her, questions glazing through his
sober eyes.
“I’m free, Sandor. It’s a lot to take in,” her voice shook as she spoke.
“Aye, a lot less to take in than what lies ahead, Little Bird. You best to
forget what’s behind us, as you won’t be seeing it any longer. And what is
ahead is a world that’ll change you forever. You’re not the same girl who came
to the capitol, so long ago.” It was very wise for Sandor to say such a thing,
and even more wiser for Sansa to listen. But it was hard for her to think in
such a way.
She watched as Sandor laid down old cloth, and things for them to lay upon. It
was certainly different than any life she had to look back on now.
As the night grew colder, Sansa and Sandor were drifting into sleep, and
nothing around them to hear, but birds and nature, made Sansa nervous. This was
a sound she knew well, from her trip to Kings Landing, and how the blue birds
would wake her up in Winterfell. But this was a different sound, or maybe, a
different Sansa.
Sansa awoke to the sound of Sandor’s heavy mail clanging. He was standing next
to his great steed and he fumbling through the pouch, that rested on it’s neck.
Sandor pulled a piece of brown oat bread that he had taken from the kitchens
and tore it in half offering it to Sansa. “Thank you” she said, always
remembering her manners.
The smoke still rose through the air. She could hear the faint sound of crows
somewhere far away in the distance.
“Are we to head north?” Sansa said taking small breaths as she devoured the oat
bread. Aye, north. Sandor tightened Stranger’s saddle and fastened his things
to it.
“We will head North. Your brother and mother will pay a king's ransom when I
return you to them”.
“And what of you? Will you stay with my brother’s men; support his cause?” The
Hound laughed.
“And if I did, would that please you, Little Bird? Do you wish to stay close to
me?” Sandor moved so quickly, before she knew it, he was standing in front of
her, looking down at her, waiting on her answer.
“I, I…” Sansa couldn’t muster the words to answer him, for her heart beat
echoed through her ears. She began to feel her cheeks warm up. Sandor placed
his hand on her chin and gently positioned her face to where their eyes met. “I
would like that Ser.”
“Would you now? How would your high born mummy feel about that?”
Sansa felt her desire turn to anger; “why are you always to hateful?!”
Sandor pulled Sansa’s face closer to his, she could feel his ragged breath on
her face. She closed her eyes tight, she could hear him say a single word;
“Sansa…”
Without warning, he pushed his lips against hers, his calloused hands caressing
the soft skin around her chin. Sansa could feel the warmth growing inside her
like a fire, quickening with each passing second. Suddenly, he pulled away, and
she felt empty, longing for more, to her surprise. With blinking eyes, she
tried to steady herself.
“Its time we started out Little Bird, save your displeasure for when we get out
of this mess.” His armour clanked as he climbed upton Stranger, and wasted no
time grabbing her by the arm and pulling her over to Stranger’s side. She
couldn’t look at him, Sansa was too busy questioning herself. Her brain was
telling her that it was supposed to happen, and now her wanting him to kiss her
was okay. But that wasn’t the way a highborn lady thought.” Lady’s don’t do
such things,” She muddled under her breath.
She felt her cheeks turn red as she looked away. Had he heard her? It mattered
not, the sun was shining and they were galloping forward, toward her family.
Sansa wrapped her arms tightly around Sandors waist, and held on tight. There
was much more in store. Sandor’s words running through her mind. “Would you
now?”
***** Waking Up - Tyrion *****
Chapter Summary
     Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true.
     From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and
     Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle
     of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a
     spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the
     king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the
     Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two
     wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in
     any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's
     capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's
     reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry
     Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story
     will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the
     Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an
     the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no
     one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As
     the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the
     old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold?
     Stay tuned to find out.
Chapter Notes
     This is our first story, so please take it easy on us. It's in the
     works. Enjoy the read!
He was sick, and the air smelt foul with the stench of burnt flesh. Oh, what
was it that he did to himself this time? Tyrion Lannister, a lord of Casterly
Rock was an unknown warrior on the battle field. He was well known for being a
drunken little tatterdemalion, and a master in the houses of whores. The night
before was scarred into his mind, and the feelings blurred together into one
full night of hate, fire and disdain. We stood up for the city, he thought. So
why was I attacked? His thoughts ran wild before his eyes could even opened.
Yes, it was hard to move, and hard to breathe, but as a newly found warrior, he
tried to not let it bother him. In the quiet, there was nothing left for him to
do but die in the base of his thoughts as they bounced around in his skull.
Maybe I’m dying. After all, I doubt anyone is looking for me.
“M-M-My lord,” Podrick whispered, in a soft, sad voice, breaking Tyrion’s
concentration on feelings of death. As he looked up, Podrick stood, filthy from
the battle, and obviously exhausted. Tyrion gave him the best smile he could,
under the rags, and blood that covered his face. “You’re awake. May I get you
anything?” breath staggered as he spoke.
“A nice cup of wine, Pordrick, thank you,” muscles in his stomach tightened as
he sat up and tried his best not to shudder at the pain. “Then do us both a
favor and sit down and get some rest,” as the words exited his mouth, feelings
of pain shifted all over his body from his stomach, to his back and then
returning to his face. He lifted his hand to feel over the rags that covered
his obvious wounds. The pads of his fingers stung on the cloth that covered his
open flesh. Memory, right now for Tyrion was unclear, and not at all what he
wanted to think about. Maybe it was the stinging of his wounds that fogged his
memory. After all, his mind was always clear. It was his best weapon. Of
course, through the laws of nature, or Cersei’s damned tits, or something along
those lines, that is when the night returned to him. Everything became a little
more clear. He knew he had to thank Podrick for saving his life. That was
certain. He remembered leading the battle. That was even more certain. He
remembered Joffrey running away like the scared muculent little bitch he is.
But now, what was going on while he was asleep? What had happened in the short
time he was asleep? How long was he asleep?
He was proud of his speech that rallied the men. There are brave men knocking
on our door! Let’s go kill them. He was brave, and now he could say for certain
that he felt brave, and he felt wise. No more room left for foolishness, or for
drinking games. He wasn’t going to give up his wine, but he needed to think
straight.
“My old friend,” a familiar snake of a voice sparkled through the room, and he
noticed that Lord Varys was sitting in the corner, awaiting a good moment to
speak. “You are a very brave man” he did his best to smile. The gold cloths
that covered his body shimmered in the light that broke through the window.
“Varys. What is news from the city?” Tyrion’s pain grew worse, and Podrick
handed him wine, which he quickly used to numb the pain. “This place doesn't
stop for anything. Surely there is news.”
“Worry for yourself, My lord. The gods know no one else will; not right now.
The city can wait. You’ve given them enough of your time.”
Varys’s words sunk into Tyrion’s mind like pen to parchment, as he spoke. He
should’ve known that no one would recognize his well doings. No one ever
recognizes when he helps. And now, more than anything, he was in pain because
of it. Yet, he was proud that he could now say he’s been in battle, and all the
men that claim to be real could no longer look down upon him. Not for that
reason, anyway. He had become a warrior, and he had done it half the size of
every other man.
“I can tell you this, though;” Varys’s sighed. “Sansa Stark has gone missing.”
Tyrion immediately tried to jump up, and quickly fell back into the clothes
that covered him, when he realized that he was no longer in the tower of the
hand of the king. This was a small room, ironic in the fact that it was a
perfect size for him. But the walls were cracking, and all his things were left
to gather dust, and him along with them. Many of his things were missing, for
he knew all of this things wouldn’t fit into this small room. It was to make
fun of him, of course. Thats why they did it; that’s why they always did it.
Probably Joffrey behind this one.
Of course, Podrick was there, by his side, offering counseling words and trying
his best to care for the half man. Without that boy, Tyrion would be dead, and
Cersei would’ve gotten everything she wanted. We couldn’t let that happen,
right? Why would we let the world do that?
“What do you mean, she is missing?” the half man coughed.
“We think she’s ran away. Possibly gone with Sandor Clegane. Your sister has
put a bounty out for him, and four hundred gold dragons to who ever brings
Sansa Stark back to the capitol alive.”
“Ah, I must love my sisters demented mind,” he rolled his eyes and let out a
big huff, as little Podrick brought him more wine. His lips were about to
embrace the cup when he blurted, “Why would she go with him?” Tyrion's eyebrows
rose in thought. He began to ponder the situation, and wonder what, or why
Sansa would leave. It is true, that he cared about Sansa. Keeping her out of
harms way, and knowing how much Eddard had sacrificed for her, made things
differ than he'd felt with others. She didn’t deserve the life his family had
forced on her. No one deserved it, and she was left by a trick of fate to be
Joffrey’s toy. And now, he wouldn’t be able to protect her from him, because he
lost his power over Joffrey. “Why would she?” he spoke mainly to himself.
“Sansa is naive, for the most part,” Varys sneered. “And the Hound is smart. He
probably offered to keep her safe, and take her home. Doing it for the money,
of course. He’ll become a sell sword and hide from the capitol.”
“But she is not ignorant,” they both nodded in agreement, as the lion spoke.
“She learned how to be smart up here. When she first arrived in Kings Landing,
then she was an ignorant stupid girl, and that’s exactly what she let Joffrey
believe she’s always been. But she watches, and she learns.”
Tyrion and Varys quickly decided to change the subject, as the walls could
quickly form ears. They both knew that Cersei’s ears were everywhere. But
instead of silence, they spoke of other things.
“What is on the agenda for today, M’lord?” Podrick asked.
“Well, considering I expected to be dead today, I’m not quite sure, Podrick.
But we will figure that out.” Tyrion offered his best smile. “And what of Lord
Varys today?”
“No one will write about what you did for the city, Lord Tyrion. They won’t
sing about your bravery; but we will never forget what you did for us. You’re
the bravest warrior with nothing to show for it. And for that, I am sorry.” It
looked like Varys needed to say that. Everyone could see that. Tyrion was proud
of have a friend, someone who knew what he did. At least then, his story may
live on, at least a little bit. But Varys looked hurt, like he wanted to help
more than he could.
The squire began to gather dressings as Varys spoke, and walked over to Tyrions
bed. He began helping the little lord change his dressings as he spoke, “accept
for one hell of a scar, M’Lord.” For the first time, in what seemed like
forever, Tyrion chuckled. This was what he had to look forward to? Good
conversations with the only person left who could care about him, the very lot
who saved his life. Guess it could be much worse.
With that, Varys soared to the door with ease, and at the other side stood
Shae. Tyrion felt bad for a moment, having not thought of her since last night.
He should be wondering if she was okay, or if something had happened to her.
She would know more than anyone else what happened to Sansa last night, since
they have her posing as Sansa’s handmaiden. The moment he was injured at the
battle field, all he wanted to do was tell her that he loved her. No one loved
Shae more than Tyrion did. If he could move, he would’ve gone to her side. He
would’ve asked Podrick and Varys to leave, and taken Shae to his bed. He
would’ve laid her down, and tossed the hem of her pink, long dress aside. The
gods were good to him after all.
As if reading his mind, Varys and Podrick soon left in silence when Shae
entered the room. She was graceful in her steps to his bed side, as she climbed
in next to him and smiled. “My lion,” her eyes were sad at his wounds, but she
didn’t flinch and his gaze at her didn’t falter. And now, they sat in silence,
clinging to eachothers heartbeats. There was nothing left to say, nor anything
for them to do. Tyrion was replaced as hand of the king by his father, whom
originally was to be hand of the king. But by some madness, his father chose
him to serve in his place, while he tried to end the war Joffrey had started.
There was no way that it was accidental that Tyrion almost died, by the hand of
Lannister men.
Oh how he longed to leave, run away and never look back upon the shores of
Westeros. No one cared for him, or wondered about him here; no one but Shae,
yet she would go with him of course.
In the back of his mind, he wondered and worried for Sansa Stark. Something was
driving here to leave here, where she was so inclined to go, with even the
shallowest of characters. Fuck the City. Fuck the King. The words Clegane had
spoke rang through the small lions pounding head.
“Maybe Clegane knew more than we thought,” his words came aloud, breaking the
silence.
“What do you mean?” Shae was soft spoken with her tone.
“Last night, during the battle, he left. I’m told Sansa may have gone with
him,” his eyes lingered on her, studying her face like he would a good book.
Like one he’d already read, a few times, but still found interesting. “Do you
know anything about that?”
“I told her to leave,” her hair fell in her face as she nodded. “Cersei was
planning to kill her. I figured, if she stayed, and Stannis lost, Cersei
would’ve found an even worse punishment than death for her. I may not know her,
but that doesn’t mean I wish death on her.”
“That changes things,” he flinched as he sat back, and listened to Shae’s
words. It was just like Cersei to do something horrible to the people Tyrion
showed any emotion for. He didn’t know if it was because of her, or not; she
was still a reached bitch. But she was Tyrion’s family.
“Cersei was being terrible to her. And Ser Ilyn was to kill all of the women,
if Stannis were to sack the city. Sansa and I listened to her say it. She was
drunk.”
“You saved her life,” his hands cupped her cold cheeks and their eyes began to
linger on each other. Yes, he could say he loved her, without a shadow of a
doubt. But no one could ever love him. “You’re good at saving lives; you see
the best in people. Even a monster, like me.”
“A monster? I see a brave, amazing man who risked his life to prove a point. It
was not very wise of you, but it was still brave. For a small man, you cast a
very large shadow.”
Their eyes closed softly as their lips touched. Again, love was flowing through
both of them, combining their energy through the silence around them. But
Tyrion had no time to linger, and no time to think. For now, Shae and her
beauty couldn’t be his top priority, since people wanted him dead. It made his
heart ache to think about how he had to leave her. But she deserved much more
than he could give her, at this current moment in time. Once again, his family
ruins his happiness, and instead of leaving them, he runs to it. They’re his
people. He’s good at outsmarting them; even though it’ll someday get him
killed. How was he to love her, when he was putting her in danger? Maybe that
was why he felt like she couldn’t love him. It had nothing to do with their
love, but how he could not protect her. A shadow cannot protect you.
“Shae, you must go,” he nodded. “If they find you here, they’re going to think
something of it.”
“What you don’t want me? Since when do you turn down a chance to fuck me?”
disdain covered her tone, and the soft carefulness in her voice had gone. She
was annoyed. “Do you not love me anymore?”
“Shae, I can’t let anyone kill you; right now, everyone is trying to kill me.
If I don’t figure this out, you’ll get hurt. I couldn’t live with myself if you
died.”
“I’ll die for you,” the love in her eyes proved every syllable of her words.
“I know,” he muttered. “That’s what scares me.”
In silence, Shae stood and left him alone. The door slamming, with a large echo
as she ran out of the room. But not a tear ran down her cheek. Surely she’d be
back soon, and he’d have to make arrangements to force her from Kings Landing,
even if it meant hurting her, to save her life. Now was Tyrion’s time to figure
out what was going on.
He stood from his bed, aching and groaning as he tried to get dressed in his
best clothes. A pair of trousers, and his best leather vest, crested with the
Lannister symbol. He tore the bandages from his face, and took one look in the
mirror. For the man who sliced his face open did a good job at damaging his
appearance, but he could still see himself in it. The Lannister nose was still
there, and his eyes sat, with pain in them, where they always had. His
complexion was only changed by the red, thick line that started beneath his
hair line on the right side of his forehead, and ended against his jaw bone,
right above his neck. Part of his nose was deformed from the blade, but it was
still intact. “If Podrick hadn’t shown up,” he scuffed. “Oh gods, don’t leave
me now. I’m going to need a lot more than tits and wine to get me through
this.”
After buttoning the last buttons of his shirt, he turned to the door and gave
one last look at the tiny shit of a room they’d put him in. “Time for battle,”
he mumbled. Outside the door, many people wandered the halls of the castle.
Surely, the victory party hadn't ended. Bronn and Podrick both waited for
Tyrion just across the hall. Bronn with a woman clinging to his side, bare skin
pushing against his leather armor. Podrick only looked slightly uncomfortable,
and all around people whispered about Tyrion's face. “Yes, time for battle
indeed.”
***** The Mutt And The Wolf Bitch - Sandor Clegane *****
Chapter Summary
     Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true.
     From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and
     Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle
     of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a
     spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the
     king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the
     Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two
     wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in
     any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's
     capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's
     reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry
     Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story
     will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the
     Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an
     the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no
     one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As
     the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the
     old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold?
     Stay tuned to find out.
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much, to everyone who has taken an interest in our
     story! Please enjoy our next chapter, and get ready to see the
     dragon, and the flayed man himself! Stay tuned!
Sandor felt Sansa hands pressed tight against his waist. Stranger was moving
faster now, the green blur of the trees was the only thing he could see out of
the corner of his eye. He could feel her body bouncing agent his as they rode
on into the sun, into the unknown. “Hold on little bird” He pulled the reins
tight as they twisted and turned through the forest. They had been riding for
some time when he noticed a glare far away in the distance. Sandor felt Sansa
small form shift as he pulled Stranger to an abrupt halt. “Fucking trackers,”
he said. The anger in his voice was apparent as it was true. A grunt, as if
actually sounding like the animal everyone called him, Sandor jumped off
Stranger to the ground and canvassed the area. Feeling like an actual dog, he
gave a scuff and turned back to pick Sansa up. He lifted Sansa from the saddle,
and without hesitation, pushed her under a small tree that was near the path
where they stopped. Hearing to the grunt she made as he put her down, and
giving a small chuckle. Without a second thought he pulled Stranger down,
forcing him to the ground and laying his arm firmly against the beasts neck.
“Who is it?” Sansa whispered. Her word smooth as the strings on a finely tuned
instrument .
“Kings, men, could be… Hard to say from here.” Sandor pulled a leather flagon
of wine from his belt and took a long pull. “They’re mean to take you from me,
but I won’t let them,” protectiveness coated his tone. He glanced over at
Sansa, her cheeks flushed, mirroring the color of the wine, he so heartly
drank. His eyes searched her body, he found pleasure in small curves of her
form. She is a woman now, Sandor thought, no longer the girl that had traveled
to the capital city. He wanted to tell her that he had thought of her every day
since he met her that day in the cold deadness of Winterfell. He wanted to tell
her that his thoughts had been filled with her every night as he laidd alone in
his bed.
The men grew closer and he could vaguely make out the sigel that wore on their
breast; that of a red flayed man, hanging upside-down on a white X-shaped
cross, on a black background. “Looks to be Bolton men, perhaps they are on
their way to your Uncles wedding.” Sandor felt a sense of relief, until he
heard to voice behind him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” He turned to see the man standing at his
back, sword drawn. Nothing special of the mans form. Quite humorously, he had
the form of something Sandor would use to pick his teeth.
“Do you make it a habit to sneak up on men bigger than you?” Sandor rested his
hand on the great sword that rested firmly on his hip. The man paid no mind,
but showed courage. “You are either the bravest, or the stupided fuck I have
ever met,” a sinister grin marked Sandor’s face.
The mans voice trembled a bit as he spoke, “there's a 100 gold dragons on your
head, plenty enough for a wretch like me. If that makes me a stupid fuck, then
so be it.” Without a second thought, the man lunged towards him. Sandor blood
turned to fire in his veins, every movement fluid as he pulled his long sword
and dispatched it deep within the mans body. His sword cut through clean
through the wretched peasants flesh, disemboweling him almost instantly. The
blood flowed to the ground, covering it in the crimson glaze, and oozing away
from the body.
Sandor’s vision was blurry and he felt the rush that gave him pleasure greater
than any other. Maybe a moment passed, maybe more, he couldn’t say; suddenly he
remembered that Sansa was under the tree where he had left her. The heat in his
veins suddenly turn to desire. He walked to where is little bird was standing
and pulled her to her feet. “I told you little bird, killing is the sweetest
thing there is,” he didn’t give her time to argue with him. Didn’t give her the
time to bore him with her sweet word,s or highborn curtsies. Sandor tangled her
fine crimson curls in his calloused finger and pushed his lips to hers. “You
still owe me a song little bird? Have you forgotten?”
There was no time for words, Sandor pulled her close and continued to kiss her
the way he had thought of all those night alone laying in his bed. He let his
tongue dance in her warm mouth, stopping only to steal a breath for a moment.
Leaving his hands to rested firmly on her back, he fought with the desire to
move them lower, and caress her the way he did in his dream. Seven hells, he
thought. I told her I would protect her, that she had nothing to fear. But yet
at this moment, she was no safer with him than she was in the belly of the red
keep. Knots began to form in his stomach, feeling more of a piece of scum than
he did before. He loosened his grip, giving his sweet little bird latitude to
pull away.
Sandor moved his hands to her shoulders, and waited for her to muddle the words
that would wound him more than any mans sword would. He waited for her to pull
away to tell him what a vile creature he was. But there was no movement, and he
felt an unexpected shock as Sansa leaned in to his form. Her lips thrust
affectionately againsts his. “I knew you wouldn’t let them hurt me.” Her word
were ever so soft, kind and true. They danced around Sandor like music at a
grand ball. Now he was filled with dread, as he thought of his true feelings
for her. It was unfair for him to think in such way, when he’s trying to bring
her home, and back to her family. “You're so brave” she glimmered as she spoke,
in a way she never had before.
“Careful now, little bird,” Sandor felt the heat rising inside of him, growing
with each passing second. “We best be on our way, otherwise I might not be able
to stop myself.” Sandor moved his hands down her arms releasing his grip from
that which he wanted more than anything he had ever known. Sansa’s face was as
red as the little flowers that adorned the ground where she once stood. As she
shifted her hair from her face, she moved away and walked from the gore he’d
left. Light danced off her hair, eyes and gown as she approached Stranger, and
ran her fingers over his front leg.
“Then we better be off,” her voice sounded almost hurt, and that broke Sandor
slightly. But he had to have a straight head, to ride.
Fuck, not enough wine in the world.
They rode deep into the night, the sun was resting on the tree tops when they
finally found a soft grove, buried deep within the forest. It was twilight, and
the light of the blazing sphere kissed the ground as it fell below the horizon.
Sansa waited for no invitation, she pulled the pouch from Stranger’s back that
held the oat bread. Sandor had taken it from the kitchen of the royal palace
before their escape. “Are you going to eat, my… my Sandor?” he could tell that
the word stuck in her throat.
“You remember your courtesies.” He chucked. “Even out here girl; even with me?”
his words were condescending and he could see the disdain in her brilliant
eyes. “I meant no offence,” Sandor found her hard to read and maybe that was
part of what made him want her.
The sky turned to a glazed shade of black and the stars twinkled. They were
much easier to read out here, in the wilderness. “I have a question for you,
Little Bird.” He could fill the full effects of the wine he had been consuming
since they found that place in the trees. “Before, you didn’t pull away?’ Why?”
He looked over at Sansa, the moon shimmed on her lips and he felt his desire
grow inside him.
“I...I…” she murmured.
“HaHa,” he didn't have time to slow his reaction. The laugh escaped his lips
without warning.
“Did you ever think that maybe I was thinking of you? You were the only one who
protected me; the others… the other kings guard, they showed me no kindness.”
He looked Sansa straight in the eyes, he could feel her wanting to pull her
gaze from him, but yet she was unwavering.
“I meant no offence little bird,” he finished the wine in the stained leather
flagon that he had been clinging to while they rested their tired bodies
beneath that small grove of trees. Sandor’s arms ached from riding.
It was cold that night, colder than it had been in the capital. Sandor had long
since closed his eyes. He felt a faint touch. It was as soft as silk, and
gentle as the breeze that blew in from the west. He first thought to pull his
sword, to quickly dispatch whatever it was that invaded his space. But he heard
her voice, “I’m cold,” she said. “Can I lay with you?”
He moved his arm, giving her the space she needed to curve her small form next
to his body. “Aye, you must be cold.” Sandor laid still as Sansa wiggled and
found a place next to him. He suddenly felt a feeling he had never felt. That
of keenness, which he had never had the pleasure of enduring. How he wanted to
act like a beast, he knew how to behave as such. He understood the needs that
flooded his senses, but this was different. It was surreal. It was strange. He
wanted to act on the primal incense that told him to just take her, and act on
what he was; a dog… But something stopped him; perhaps it was the innocence in
her movements.
Sandor has long since drifted off to sleep when he felt the cold steel pressed
against his throat. The sharpness as a feeling he knew all too well. His hand
searched desperately for his sword. Fumbling clumsily, he only found the dry
leather to fassed it.
“Ilyn Payne...
The Hound...
Polliver...
The Mountain…” her small stature took form as Sandor’s eyes regained their
focus. She was bent over him like the small wolf of her house, aching to kill
her prey.
“You aim to kill a man in his sleep girl? Do it!” he grabbed the childs hand.
“Push that dagger into my throat, watch me as I take my last breath. I killed
your butcher boy…”
“Arya?” Sandors eyes redirected their attention to Sansa, her tattered hair was
whipping around in the wind. “Arya? Is that you?”
“Bugger this!” finding his way to his feet. He tossed Arya off him like a dog
would flick a flea. “Come here you little wolf bitch.”
End Notes
     © We're glad you are enjoying our story, but as the Lannister's send
     their regards, please believe the three eyed raven's will send
     theirs. This story is for enjoyment and is not affiliated with GRRM.
     But any use of our material without our consent is prohibited. By the
     old gods and the new, we send you our seven blessings of enjoyment on
     our journey.
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