She sat with her legs folded beneath her, the soft dirt rubbing into her nightgown. Her auburn hair was in a braid down her back, her Tully blue eyes staring into nothingness, a deadness in them that should not be evident in a girl her age.
The Godswood creaked around her as King's Landing slept on. No one knew she had left the Keep and if Joffery found out there was no doubt she would receive a beating, but it did not matter anymore; Sansa Stark was already dead. Not in body, but in soul. She was the only Stark left, but the wolf had left her. For when winter comes the lone wolf dies.
She hoped her husband would not wake when she returned, but then again Tyrion Lannister barely slept at all. That was another reason for her to cry, for though she was a Stark in blood, they had turned her into a lion.
And now her faith had been lost in the Gods. They never listened to her prays, whether they were to the old Gods or the new. Cersei was right, the Gods were not merciful. She had nothing to live for. There was no escape from the darkness that threatened to consume her.
Lost in her thoughts she had failed to notice the dark silhouette that stood behind her. That was until they shifted their weight and a twig snapped beneath them.
Heart in her throat and terror filling her eyes, she spun around. Her blue eyes searched among the black shadows. She saw him. She would know that shadow anywhere.
Though a hood was covering his face, she knew that he was scarred by hideous burns. His sword dripped blood on to the fermenting leaves of the forest floor.
"Little Bird," he growled. His voice was as rough as it always had been and the rage in his eyes still evident.
Sansa stared, eyes wide and heart thundering so loud that she was surprised she had heard him at all. This was not real. He took a song and a kiss and left me nothing but a bloody cloak, she thought. The Blackwater had been on fire that night and she knew once he left, that he would not come back. And how she wished she had gone with him.
"Did Payne cut out your tongue, girl?" Sandor Clegane hissed, as if he was trying to go unnoticed, his bulking figure would have made that hard enough. He was as intimidating as ever.
"N-no," Sansa gasped and he laughed gruffly. He sheathed his bloodied sword and took another step towards her. She stumbled back.
"Even more cowed than before. Did the boy king have the beatings increase once he lost his dog?" His voice was harsh, mocking. Sansa wondered why he had come back.
"Yes," she replied, glad that her voice did not waver. She was surprised to see that he flinched. "What are you doing here?"
His grey eyes took her in, all of her; her bruised arms and the cuts visible through her thin night gown.
"Why are you not dressed properly?" He snapped and that was when Sansa realised she was trembling, but perhaps it was from fear rather than the cold. The Hound shouldered off his cloak and held it out to her. This time it was not covered in blood. She took something from him this time.
"You left me," she whispered as she wrapped the cloak around her. She sounded like a pathetic little girl.
"You didn't want to come with me, I'm not knightly enough for you," was his biting reply.
"You held a knife to my throat and made me sing to you! You took a song and a kiss and left me nothing but a bloody cloak!" She screamed at him. He lashed out quicker than she had expected. His hand clamped down on her mouth and she could taste the dirt and grime that covered them.
His mouth was right next to her ear, his breath tickling her neck when he whispered,
"If I had kissed you girl, I wouldn't have stopped at just that."
She shuddered at the ferocity that was laced through his words. He was serious and she was terrified. He had kissed her, she knew he had.
"You won't hurt me," she said. She was certain of it. This man had shown he had more honour than any of the knights she had ever met. He had taken his hand away from her mouth to rest on her shoulder.
"Why did you come back? I'm Lord Tyrion's now. He is my one true love," she said mockingly.
"You deserve better than a dwarf, Little Bird," his voice was soft now, well as soft as possible for a Clegane. She stepped towards him, seeking comfort that he was not able to give. But his hand was now resting on her neck. Their bodies inches apart. "We're leaving and this time you don't have a choice."
If he had given her the option, she would have made the right decision this time. They left the Godswood, the Red Keep and Kings Landing. The Hound one step behind his Little Bird.