She smelled the smoke and fire outside, a bitter scent that seemed to cling to her clothing as she ran towards the only solitude she would find. Her chambers, was the only place that she felt somewhat safe at, when she wasn't being tortured mercilessly by Joffrey.

She forced open the heavy oak doors, and blocked out the dying screams from the men outside. She would get through this, she had to.

The door was so heavy, so heavy. She thought silently, sweat running down the creases in her bodice and back. It felt as though she were being consumed by fire, a burning agony that was ripping the air from her chest in slow, painful strokes. At long last the door finally gave way, and she fell inside with a sigh of relief. The door slammed shut behind her, and the cool serenity of her room welcomed her into its darkening depths. She made her way over to her bed, covered in soft silks and satins, and lay down on its cushiony springs. She inhaled deeply, the charred remains of the army gone now, only cool, fresh air left behind. Cold steel bit at her neck, and she fought the urge to bite down on the hand that clamped down over her mouth. She tasted blood, and his hands were sticky, it made bile surge upwards her throat.

"Quiet little bird, Don't want to cut you're pretty neck now." The hound slurred. He was drunk, stinking of wine and covered in blood and filth. She felt the blade gently trace along her neck and collar bone, before it came to rest at her chest area, curving above the dip of her dress. His grip loosened and she tried to sit up, only to be forced back down again by the same hand. He opened his mouth to speak, and she inhaled and listened to what he had to say.

"I'm going away from here," His voice was a low rasp, it sounded like a growl. He was, in some ways, animal-like. A great ferocious beast in chainmail swinging about a sword as though it were a twig. He scared her. He sniffed and said in an almost sad tone, "I should take you with me little dove, you'd like that. Wouldn't you?"

She swallowed silently and licked her lips, before casting her eyes to the floor. He laughed mirthlessly.

"Still afraid to look?" She shook her head, and in defiance stared at his battle scarred face. Part of her wanted to touch it, feel to see if it felt as rough as it looked. Another part warned her to stay quiet, and ignore whatever else she was thinking. He shoved her down harder into the bed, and she tensed up when his bloodied hand trailed down her waist, cupping her slender form with tender motions. He breathed in, his breath ragged and guttural, and crushed her mouth with his own. He tasted of wine and blood, maturity lingered within his rugged depths. It was strange to feel his mouth against her lips, and she didn't know if she liked it or not. He didn't care, that was clear when he lowered his dagger to her breasts and slit the fabric down the middle. The faint ripping sound was strange in contrast to the screaming outside. She let her arms fall to her side as the dress revealed her glowing skin, the faint moonlight glinting from the ivory shapes of her body.

Her chest, he noticed. Was round, two soft bosoms tipped with a rosy pink nipple. Her waist was shapely and slim, and curved into womanly hips. Her legs were toned, pale and sweet with a young, youthful look that sent blood rushing to his loins. He groaned and watched as she raised her hands to cover her breasts.

"Don't," She swallowed and he watched as tears dripped down her face. He felt guilt, but she looked so perfect lying there in his arms. Her auburn tresses were lain across her silken sheet, and her body. By gods, that body! He had never seen the like. She whimpered once and opened her pretty pink mouth, her white teeth glinting in the dark.

"Please sandor," She asked him with a silent hope. "I must keep my maiden-head, please do not rob me of that." He groaned angrily but nodded.

"Aye, I promise you'll stay a virgin." She moved as if to get up, but was pushed back down. She looked at him questioningly and he shot her a glare. She sank back, defeated.

"You'll stay a virgin sansa," He smirked, the corners of his ruined mouth curled into a smile. "But that doesn't mean I won't taste you." He leaned down and stroked the secret skin of her thighs. They were milky white, and softer than velvet or silk. Enticing, he thought with a content smile. He leaned down and kissed the smooth skin of her thighs, before leaning in and kissing her northern lips.