Sansa shifted her weight, trying desperately to get comfortable. Her wrists were bound and tied to the pommel in front of her, her thighs pressed too tightly against the front of the saddle. She shook her head, trying to clear it and remember why she was on horseback. It made her head throb and she leaned back against the man behind her, groaning softly.

"You're alright, little bird," growled a familiar voice in her ear, his arms tightening around her protectively. It was the last thing she heard before her eyes slid closed and she slept.

It was nearly an hour later, from what Sandor Clegane could tell, when she stirred again. He brought Stranger up slowly, guiding him into a clearing beside the road. He slid off the horse's back, careful to keep the barely conscious girl safely astride until he could untie her wrists. He pulled her down carefully and set her on a mound of moss, her back braced against a tree, before he squatted down beside her. Blinking and moaning softly, he watched as she took in her surroundings before turning to look at him. Her eyes sprang open and her mouth formed a perfect 'o' as she stared at him.

"You were dead," she murmured.

"Twice now, I'm told," he chuckled. "Not dead, little bird."

Her eyes flitted across his face, his chest, his hands, and back to his face. Whatever fear she had once had of his scarred visage had left her.

It was his turn to be confused and surprised when she said, "Tell me my name."

His brows knit. She had never objected to his nickname before now. "I know your name."

"Tell me."

He exhaled heavily. He hadn't expected this to go smoothly, how could it? But this was not one of the myriad of ways in which he pictured their reunion happening.

"Sansa Stark."

Tears pooled in her eyes and her fingers twitched in her lap. "Again," she whispered.

"You're Sansa Stark of Winterfell."

"Again!" she pleaded.

His voice grew tender. "Sansa."

She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks freely. She reached for him then, falling against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. Unbalanced by her lunge, he rocked back on his heels for a moment and, feeling him pull away, her grip turned into a vise. He let his weight fall to his knees and slid so it was his back now against the tree, her face pushed against the place over his heart. He wrapped his arms around her tentatively and let her cry against him until she wore herself out with it.

"Do you know me?" he murmured, awkwardly pushing loose strands of hair from her face.

He was uncertain. The girl he'd left the night of the Blackwater would never have clung to him so, never allowed him to comfort her like this. It wouldn't be proper, decent. Had Joffrey really and truly broken her? Had Baelish?

"The Hound," she whispered back, her breath hot against his chest. "Sandor Clegane."

"That's right," he nodded. "Just Clegane now, though. What have they done to you, little bird?"

She pulled away from him, then, and searched his face with her eyes. "You came for me. Why did you come for me?"

He grumbled a bit. "It seemed the thing to do."

"Did it?" she asked, frowning. "No one else came. How did you know where I was?"

"A long story for another time," he told her, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Was it right? That I came for you? I'm no pretty knight …"

She shook her head. "It was right. It was good."

Inordinately pleased, he grinned at her and squeezed her shoulders gently. " 'Good'. Not something I'm used to being called."

She nodded absently but he took no offense. "Where … where are we?"

"The woods."

She gave him an annoyed look. "I know that."

"That's all you need to know. Have to put distance between us and the Eyrie. Can you ride or do I need to tie you to the saddle again?"

Sighing, she held her wrists out to him. "My head feels foggy."

He had the good grace to look abashed as he muttered, "Sorry about that. I put sweet sleep in your tea."

"Why?"

He shrugged and began to bind her wrists. "Didn't know as you'd go with me if I asked."

"I would have."

Their eyes met then, his wary and suspicious, hers tired but sincere.

He stood, pulling her with him, and put her back on the horse, excusing himself for just long enough to relieve himself against a tree some ways away. And then they were off, hooves pounding the dirt trails, trees flying by on either side.