Chapter Text
Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! This is a work in progress, but I have several chapters written already. Thank you so much for reading!
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Sandor groaned and turned on his side, reluctant to wake up. He’d been dreaming about the auburn-haired girl again. In his dreams, he could never quite see her face, but he knew somehow that she was beautiful. And kind. The dreams always ended with her reaching her hand out to him, as if she meant to caress his face, and he always woke up before she could touch him.
His eyes flickered open and he moaned again, silently cursing his full bladder, blinding headache, and the sharp rock digging into his ribs. He’d finished three flagons of wine the night before and had been working on the fourth when he’d finally half-fallen off of Stranger and passed out under a tree.
The sun shining down on his face was filtered through the leaves of the trees that surrounded him, but a single lit candle in a dark room would have been too much for him at the moment, hung over as he was. His stomach churned and he tried to work up enough saliva to spit, hoping to wash the sour taste and dryness out of his mouth, but even that was too much effort.
Stranger’s bridle jingled softly as he nibbled at the thin grass in the glade. A quick peek showed Sandor that the horse was still saddled from the night before. “Seven hells,” he muttered, and rolled onto his back, taking deep breaths as he waited for the dizziness and nausea to pass. He was struggling to maneuver into a sitting position with his eyes still closed when he heard Stranger jerk his head up and go still. Before Sandor could even open his eyes, the forest erupted in the wild barking of dogs. Several dogs. A pack.
He sat up quickly, and the world spun crazily around him so that his stomach heaved and he almost fell over again. He would have vomited, but he hadn’t eaten properly in days before memories of the Battle of the Blackwater had overwhelmed him and driven him to try to drink himself to death. He was too dizzy to get to his feet, and he knew he was caught. He almost could have laughed, imagining what smallfolk and nobles alike would say when they heard the news. Betrayed by his own kind. He could only hope they didn’t kill him right away, so he would have a chance to fight his way free once the wine had worn off. Seven bloody buggering hells.
The barking stopped as suddenly as it had started. Sandor slowly lifted his head and looked.
A girl was standing about 10 yards away, staring at him, surrounded by dogs. She was tall and slim, with long auburn hair. Sandor knew he was probably drunker than he’d ever been, even after several hours out cold. But even so, he could have sworn he was looking at the girl of his dreams. Only this time, he was awake.
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When Sansa first saw him, her immediate instinct was to flee, but she forced herself to be brave. The man didn’t look like he could even get up off the ground, much less attack her. But if he did, she had bear spray and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
Lady stood tensely at her feet, never taking her eyes off the man. The other dogs fanned out around her as she stood, heart in her throat, and studied him. He was probably homeless, maybe a drug addict or an alcoholic. His height and massive, muscular build was apparent, even slumped against the base of the tree as he was. He had long black hair, and burn scars covered half of his face. Sansa was horrified by them. He looked like he’d had a rough life, and he was probably violent.
And he had a horse. A big, black, mean-looking horse. She was glad it was tied to a tree.
The man groaned again and passed his hand over his eyes and then leaned his head back against the tree with his eyes shut. Sansa wished she hadn’t come to investigate what the dogs had been making such a fuss about. It wasn’t good to have that much curiosity in the woods. What if it had been a bear? Or worse, a mountain lion? But now that she was here, she knew she would never forgive herself if she walked off and left him without offering help. If it was her lying sick or hurt and alone in the woods, she’d want someone to help her. Besides, in his current condition, he probably wouldn’t be much of a match against her and the dogs.
“Are you all right, sir? Are you hurt or sick?”.
He opened his eyes, and she again fought the urge to bolt. She had never seen so much anger in anyone’s eyes.
“I’m no knight,” he snarled. “I hate knights. I spit on them and their vows.”
Knights? Sansa wondered if Knights was the name of a biker gang. He looked like he would belong to a biker gang. Except for his clothes. She’d never seen a man dressed like him. He wore heavy leather boots and a long, loose shirt belted over rugged-looking wool pants. Maybe he was European. He spoke English, but he did have a thick accent that she couldn’t identify. She studied him curiously. Was he wearing a sword?
“Do you work at the Renaissance festival?” The ren fest had just started and would go on for a couple of months. The workers camped in the woods near the festival grounds and got drunk and partied all night long, every night. He might have gotten lost trying to find his tent in the dark.
“What?” he asked, putting his head in his hands.
“Do you work at the Renaissance festival?” she repeated, carefully enunciating her words so he would understand her.
“What are you talking about, girl?” he said irritably, head still in his hands. His accent was so unusual.
“I thought you might be one of the jousters at the festival,” she said, embarrassed.
A horse and a sword. She tried to think.
“Were you hunting?” Maybe he’d been hunting and had fallen off his horse and been knocked out. Men usually hunted with guns, sometimes with a bow and arrow. She didn’t know much more about hunting than that, but maybe some did hunt with swords. “Did you have a friend with you? A hunting partner?”
He lifted his head and looked at her strangely, squinting as if he just now saw her for the first time. His eyes swept her from head to toe. She’d been on a walk with Lady and the dogs and was wearing an old sundress that she’d made herself, and her Keds sneakers. Her hair was loosely twisted up on the back of her head and held in place with a clip.
Sansa wound the slack from one of the leashes around her hand nervously. Maybe he was on a wilderness survival expedition, like Survivorman on TV. It was Colorado, after all. People did things like that here all the time.
The big man met her eyes again, a question in his expression.
“Who are you?”
“What’s your name?”
They’d both spoken at the same time. Sansa answered first.
“I’m Sansa Stark. What’s your name?”
After a flicker of hesitation, he answered, frowning. “Sandor Clegane.”
“Are you hurt, Mr. Clegane?”
He snorted sarcastically. “No, I’m not hurt. Too much wine, that’s all.”
An alcoholic, just as she’d suspected. Sansa was still nervous, but the man hadn’t made a move to get up, and seemed to be putting forth quite an effort to just sit up against the tree. The dogs were starting to lose interest. Sansa held two leashes, one for the little dogs and one for the bigger dogs. She had two on each one, four total, plus Lady; she was the only one allowed to walk freely. A terrier puppy leaped playfully at the toy poodle joined with it. On the other hand, a German shepherd scratched behind its ear, its leg thumping the ground rhythmically, while the Lab next to it dropped down to roll on the ground. Lady yawned and whined.
“Are you hungry?” Sansa ventured. “I can bring you something to eat. I live really close to here; it won’t take long.”
He frowned. “Just tell me where to find the nearest inn and I’ll be on my way. No need to trouble yourself over a dog like me.” He looked over the dogs sprawled out around her. “Though you seem to have a way with them.”
Sansa twisted and untwisted the leash around her hand. She was getting the strangest feeling. There was something about the man that gave her déjà-vu. “If you went to a hotel, what would you do with your horse?”
The man—Sandor Clegane—looked at her incredulously. “My horse? What do you mean what would I do with my horse? Have you ever heard of an inn without a stable?”
“I’ve never heard of a hotel that did have one. Except on dude ranches, but that’s different. There aren’t any hotels within walking distance from here, and if you ride your horse through town looking for one, people will stop and stare and probably make fun of you," she explained sympathetically. "If you’ve been camping out, I'm afraid you’ll just have to keep camping until you get home. But I can bring you food if you’re hungry.”
Sandor Clegane looked as if he was confused and trying not to show it. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then shook his head. “I’d be glad of some food. And wine, if you have it. I can pay.”
He pushed himself to his feet, and all at once the dogs stopped their fidgeting and snapped to attention. He didn’t even look at them. “I’ll be waiting here. You should be careful in the woods by yourself, girl. Those dogs don’t look like they could protect a block of cheese from a mouse,” he said, his mouth twitching.
He moved toward his horse, and Sansa took a step back towards the trail she’d been on. “Lady, come.” Lady hadn’t moved from her spot or taken her eyes off the man. Sandor Clegane glanced at her, and suddenly Lady barked and leapt at him, crossing the ground in two bounds. She jumped up and rested her paws on the man’s thigh, and then bounced back with a playful growl, falling back to the ground in a deep stretch with her rump in the air, tail wagging a mile a minute.
It had all happened so fast, Sansa hadn’t even had time to be scared for Lady. She realized she was standing there with her mouth open in shock. Sandor stared at the dog for a moment, as if he, too, didn’t believe what had just happened. And then he laughed, and his hard, burned face was for a moment transformed.
“She likes you,” Sansa observed, smiling as she watched Lady. The man, Sandor, stretched his hand out and Lady jumped up again, madly trying to lick his hands as he scratched behind her ears.
Sansa had always been too trusting for her own good. She knew that. She thought she’d gotten more careful after Joffrey, but apparently not, because in those few seconds when Lady was making friends with the man named Sandor Clegane, she made a split-second decision that would change the rest of her life, although she didn’t realize it at the time. Or maybe she did, on some sub-conscious level.
Lady is a good judge of character, she reminded herself. Lady had never liked Peter Baelish, for example, and had barked and growled at the cable guy who’d come to her house a few months ago. If Lady liked this man, surely he wasn’t a bad person?
“Actually, Mr. Clegane, you don’t have to wait here. You can come with me, if you want. There’s a barn on my property, and I just remembered that there’s still some hay leftover from a hayride I had for the kids at the women’s shelter a couple of months ago. Maybe your horse could eat it?”
Sandor Clegane patted Lady on the head absently as he stared at Sansa. She blushed when she thought of how rude it had been for her to suggest he stay here. He’d probably want to wash up at least. Maybe she could offer him a place to stay for the night. His horse could stay in the barn. It would be perfect.
He finally nodded. “Give me a minute,” he said, and walked away from her, stopping a few feet past the horse. He stood there with his back turned, and Sansa almost called out to him, thinking he might need help with packing up his things. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of the man urinating against a tree. She looked away quickly and her blush deepened. She disliked crude behavior, although the man’s rustic appearance did make it seem more natural and, therefore, less offensive. She busied herself with the dogs, wishing he had gone a little farther into the woods to relieve himself. He came back a few minutes later and grabbed his blanket from the ground where he’d been sleeping, threw it over his shoulder, and gathered his horse’s reins in his hand.
“I’ll follow you,” he said shortly.
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Sandor followed the girl silently. He wondered if he was having some sort of a waking dream. Something made him feel uneasy. He’d mostly dismissed the idea that the girl was trying to trick him into being captured, but something wasn’t right. The way she was dressed, for one thing. He’d never seen a maiden traipsing around in the light of day in only her shift and slippers. Even that didn’t look right, but then again, he’d never paid much attention to the way ladies dressed. But not even the poorest peasant woman would ever leave her house dressed like that, and something told him she definitely wasn’t a peasant. And her accent wasn’t one he had ever heard before. He didn’t understand some of the things she’d said. What was that word she’d said when he’d asked about an inn?
He scanned his surroundings as the path wove through the trees, trying to get his bearings. They were in the mountains, it seemed, although not very high up. The slope they were descending was a gentle one and thickly wooded. In the foothills, then. He could smell water somewhere ahead of them. Stranger could, too. Sandor needed to water the horse.
“Girl,” he called out. She stopped and turned around.
“My name is Sansa,” she reminded him, politely.
“Lady Sansa,” he acknowledged, awkwardly. The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. For some reason, that made him feel as awkward a peasant at the high table. He’d always been uncomfortable around highborn ladies, for all that he’d been the Queen’s own sworn shield for so many years.
“I need to water my horse. We’re close to a river? Or a stream?” He could hear the faint sound of running water and jerked his head in its general direction.
“Yes, but you can get to it just as easily from my house. We’re almost there,” she reassured him.
He studied his surroundings as they walked, in case she was leading him into an ambush, although he didn’t think it likely. A cottage could be glimpsed through the trees. He looked at it sharply. It was built of logs, a simple peasant’s house. There was a second one not far beyond it. By the time they reached the clearing at the end of the path they’d passed six dwellings, all eerily lifeless. No smoke rose from the chimneys, no chickens scratched in the yards, no tools were lying about, no grubby children stared at them from behind their mother’s skirts. It almost made Sandor feel more uneasy than if they’d walked through a village where he was known to all.
“Lady Sansa--“
“Please, just call me Sansa,” she interrupted, the blush rising in her face once again.
“Where are your people?”
“My people?” Her brows creased in a frown.
“Your people, yes. These cottages are empty, every one of them. Where are all the villagers?”
He could read her face like a book. Her mouth opened as if to ask another question, and then suddenly her frown gave way to a look of surprised understanding.
“This isn’t a village. It’s a vacation place, except that I’ve never gotten around to renting out the cabins.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “There should still be people hereabouts. Your family…”
She looked away for a moment before she answered him. “My mother and father are dead. So is my oldest brother. I don’t know where my sister is. She ran away from home after they died. My other two brothers left the country years ago. They moved to India and started a spiritual retreat. It’s really popular, but I’ve never been to visit. I hear from them a couple of times a year.”
“You’ve no menfolk here to help provide for you? No husband? You live here alone?” Sandor was incredulous.
“No. I mean, no I’m not married. Yes, I live here alone.” She made a sweeping gesture as they passed through the clearing and announced, “That little white house is where I live. The barn I was telling you about is just past these trees, and the kennels are right next to it. See? In bad weather I put the dogs in the barn. And then there’s the river. You can take care of your horse while I get the dogs fed and settled, and then I can get you something to eat.”
She smiled up at him, and he saw the sadness in her eyes, as well as the flicker of concern in her expression as she looked upon his burn scars. There was no trace of fear or revulsion. That also didn’t seem right. Everyone in Westeros knew who he was. Everyone was afraid of him. Why wasn’t she? She didn’t seem like a simpleton. He puzzled over it while he watered Stranger. The girl was busy with the dogs when he returned, but she glanced up and smiled again when he passed her. He led the horse into a stall, took off the saddle, and gave him an armload of hay to eat while he brushed him down.
Then he went back outside to watch the girl and examine the kennel more closely. It was a large area enclosed by a fence made up of some type of metal he’d never seen before, wrought into thick wires that were twisted together to form a kind of honeycomb pattern. One side of the enclosure was divided into smaller compartments for each dog, which faced a common area where they could run and play together.
The girl, Sansa, scooped food with a cup from a metal barrel and dumped it into bowls lined up on a wooden table. Sandor came into the enclosure to get a better look while she brought each dog its rations. He lifted the lid off the barrel and pulled out the cup. It was very lightweight, the color a brilliant shade of green he’d never seen before. He turned it over and over in his hands, scratched it with his fingernail. What in seven hells was it made of?
The girl returned, brushing her hands together and smiling brightly. “I hope that didn’t take too long, Mr. Clegane. Are you ready to eat?”
Sandor was still staring at the cup. “What is this, gi-- Lady Sansa?”
She looked at him, confused. “It’s a cup…”
Sandor glared at her. “I know it’s a bloody cup, girl. What is it made of?”
She took the cup gently from his hand and put it back in the barrel. “It’s made of plastic, Mr. Clegane,” she said, softly. The faint look of pity on her face made him feel like the village idiot.
“What is plastic? Something the maesters at the Citadel came up with?”
“Well, I don’t know when it was invented…” Sansa said slowly. “Is something wrong, Mr. Clegane?”
The conversation was going nowhere. Besides, why did he even care? A cup was a cup, whether it was made of Valyrian steel or this plastic. He had a splitting headache and was starting to feel shaky. He needed food and rest. There were too many strange things about this place, but the girl was courteous and he thought he’d be safe here for a few hours while he and Stranger rested up. That was the important thing.
“Don’t mind me. Too much wine and not enough food or rest, is all.” At least, that’s what he hoped it was.
The girl led him back the way they’d come. Sandor felt curiously light-headed. Must be the thin mountain air. He considered that he might be among the mountain clans. That might account for why things were so unfamiliar. It wouldn’t account for how he got here in the first place, but he’d worry about that later. Instead, he focused his attention on the girl in front of him and admired the graceful way she carried herself, the stray hairs that curled against the nape of her neck, the slenderness of her waist, and the shapeliness of her bare legs. He grunted in approval, and when the girl turned to look at him, he shifted his gaze away quickly. What he saw out of the corner of his eye stopped him in his tracks.
“What in seven hells is that?” he asked incredulously, pointing.
“That’s my car,” she replied, as if surprised that he’d needed to ask.
“I’ve never seen a cart like that,” he said, without taking his eyes off the object.
“It’s a car, not a cart. Mr. Clegane, where are you from?” Her voice shook a bit as she asked the question.
He stared at her for a moment before answering. “You really don’t know me?”
She shook her head. “No. Should I? I’ve lived here for years and it’s not a very big town. I think I would remember you. Did you just move here?”
“I’ve never been here before in my life.”
“Then where are you from? I understand if you don’t want to tell me, but…” Her voice trailed off, but she looked at him as if she could find the answer written on his face.
“I’m from the West, near Casterly Rock.”
“Casterly Rock? That sounds familiar. Is that in Oregon? Or California?” she pressed.
“Casterly Rock is in Westeros. Where are you from, that you don’t know that?” he demanded.
“I’m from Alaska, originally. But I’ve lived here in Colorado for several years now,” she said, looking very worried. “Where is Westeros?”
Sandor couldn’t for the life of him understand how anyone could be so ignorant. “Where is Westeros? Bloody hell, girl, Westeros is in Westeros,” he said.
The girl swallowed and said, faintly, “On… On Earth?”
Sandor hissed impatiently. “Of course it’s on the earth, where else would it be? On the bloody moon?” The girl blushed and looked away from him for a moment. “Now, where is this place you said you came from?”
“Alaska. It’s the northernmost state in the U.S.”
It sounded like she said… No, he must have misunderstood her, with her foreign accent. A wave of shock washed over him. It was one thing to wake up in the mountains when he’d gone to sleep in the Riverlands, but across the Narrow Sea? He laughed bitterly.
“Seven bloody buggering hells. I passed out drunk in Westeros and woke up somewhere in Essos. No wonder everything here is so different.”
“No, not Essos. The U.S.— United States,” she explained. He looked at her blankly. “Of America,” she clarified.
He stared at her for long moments, breathing hard. He tried to sort his thoughts, but it was impossible, not with his hangover making him feel like his skull was like to crack open any second now.
“Wine,” he commanded her. “I need wine, and food. Now. Might be I’ll be able to make sense of what you’re saying when my belly is full and my head doesn’t feel like it’s about to split apart.”
The girl nodded and hurried off without another word. Her dog looked up at him and then trotted off after her. He slumped on a bench pulled up to a wooden table set in the shade between two pines, and waited.