Authors Notes: This is a one-off for-fun story in response to the_moonmoth's prompt: "Sandor confesses his love to Sansa, but she turns him away as she thinks he's mocking her." in the Comment Fic Meme No. 5 in LiveJournal's sansa-sandor community.

The prompt was devilishly difficult – what a ridiculous notion! – but a fun challenge in any case…

This hasn't been betae'd, so any grammar and other mistakes are all my own.

Summary: "Why did the fucking fool Florian follow his cunt Jonquil? Why did the buggering prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried when his lover and sister Queen Naerys married her other brother?"

Sansa

"Why do you always have to mock me?!" Sansa's eyes blurred with tears as she shifted further away from the Hound, who was leaning close to her against the garden wall. They were in the winter garden of the Red Keep, where Sansa escaped whenever she had a chance to get away from the court and its suffocating atmosphere.

"I mean it, girl," he growled, looming threateningly above her, clenching his fists on his sides.

"You say you mean it, when we both know how much you detest all those stories and what they represent! What you really want to do is to taunt me, when all I wanted to do was to thank you…" Sansa had had enough and turned around, wanting to get away from him and his ridicule.

She ran to the door leading to the keep, dimly aware that the Hound stayed where he stood. The guard who had been assigned to escort her hardly kept pace with her as she raced towards her rooms. She only wanted to reach its relative safety and finally be alone.

She threw herself on her bed and sobbed. I thought he was my friend…

As her tears eventually subsided, Sansa welled in her misery anew, but more calmly this time. She realised that her hurt rose not only from being taunted by someone she had thought as a friend… If she was completely honest to herself, she had thought he might even be something more, something special. It had taken a long time for her to come to think of the Hound that way, so ridiculous the notion had been at first. How truly preposterous it had been, had just been clearly demonstrated, she thought to herself.

Her mind went back to what had just happened. All she had wanted to do was to thank the Hound, and hence she had asked to see him.

Since her incarceration as the Lannisters prisoner, she had noticed how Joffrey's gruff sworn shield had seemed in some inexplicable way taken her under his protection. It was never anything glaringly obvious, but manifested itself in small ways. He treated her kinder than the other knights of the Kingsguard, was more patient with her when she wasn't quick enough to do Joffrey's bidding. He had also in a few occasions supported her stance against Joffrey – looking indifferent and bored when he did so, but helping her in any case. As she was never told about the events at court, spending most of her time in her rooms, she found the occasions when her presence was called for in the Great Hall confusing. The Hound had somehow understood that and started to inform her about what was happening both inside and outside of the castle. He was always restrained, telling her about the recent events in short, clipped sentences, while escorting her to or from her rooms, never expecting her to respond.

Once he had come to her while one of her maids had been insolent towards her. All the servants in the keep knew that the king didn't afford her the courtesy due to a lady of her standing, and had taken their cues from him. The maids had grown lax and sullen and sometimes even outward refused to do what she asked from them. The Hound had stumbled into one of those occasions and observed it for a while from the door, scowling, before the maid had seen him and quickly fallen in line again. He didn't comment on it to Sansa or even seemed to recognise it had happened. Nevertheless, after that day her maids suddenly started to behave as she was the queen herself, becoming helpful, trying to please her and doing everything in their power to make her life in captivity more bearable.

Sansa could never prove that the Hound had anything to do with that – but in her heart she knew he had.

All his actions had been so subtle and inconspicuous that she couldn't really raise them with him directly. She had tried once, but he had only stared at her with his hard grey eyes, until her words had died on her lips.

But this day had been different.

Robb had won another victory in the Riverlands and Joffrey had been furious. He had summoned Sansa into the throne room and commanded Ser Boros Blount to teach her a lesson. He was to strip her dress down and spank her back and shoulders until she would beg for mercy. Sansa had gasped and silently prepared herself for the inevitable blows. However, when Ser Blount had started to advance towards her, he had tripped and landed heavily on the floor.

Sansa was sure she had seen the Hound shifting his position, moving his leg in front of him just as Ser Blount was passing, causing the fall.

After that things had escalated quickly, Ser Blount accusing the Hound for deliberately tripping him, the Hound harking back how it was not his problem if the blasted knight couldn't walk straight, Ser Blount retorting to his taunts heatedly. The Hound seemed to pick at the other man for the fun of it, cursing and mocking him until steel was drawn, and the two men engaged in a swordfight right then and there. Joffrey had laughed, urging his dog to show the knight a lesson, and imploring Ser Blount to show his worth as the knight of the Kingsguard.

Sansa had stood there, forgotten, hoping it would stay that way. The fight had been stopped only when Queen Cersei had arrived, irritated to see the dignity of the crown so degraded. She had icily admonished her son and the court, and reluctantly Joffrey had called the fighters off. As a punishment for starting the fight, the Hound had been given extra week of night guard duty. As the court had adjourned, Joffrey had waived Sansa away, muttering that he would deal with her later.

Two days later nothing had happened, and Sansa had surmised that the king had forgotten all about it. She knew that she had been saved from a severe beating – by none other but the Hound. Hence she had organised to go the gardens that day. She had asked him to meet her there the previous day, when he had escorted her to her door.

And then the events had unravelled as they had, leading her to her rooms, tears streaking down her face.

Sandor had been already waiting her near the withering bushes of summer flowers, standing in the shadows of the wall. Sansa had approached him slowly, feeling her throat to be dry as a parchment as she croaked.

"I…want to thank you for your kindness. What you did for me, the other day."

"Hmmmppph," was all he had said, scanning her under his brow. He hadn't moved and Sansa had become once again aware how tall and wide he was. She had had to crane her neck to look at his face.

"I know it was you; you did it on purpose. What I don't understand is why. Why do you do these kindnesses for me?" She had grimaced. "If your king doesn't care for my wellbeing, why should you?"

"Who says I do?" the Hound had growled, turning his face away, seemingly determined not to look at her.

For a second Sansa had been taken aback, wondering if she had been wrong after all. Yet she knew she hadn't. She had been so certain of it that she had pressed further, wanting to understand why the bad-tempered warrior would do such a thing, so at odds with his role as the king's dog.

She had shifted closer, so close that they had almost touched.

"I know you do. You treat me kinder than anyone in this keep. Why would you do such a thing? I am but a daughter and a sister of traitors; I have no influence, no coin nor favours to bestow on those who do well by me. What could you possible benefit from helping me?"

As he hadn't answered, she had continued.

"You told me once that a hound will die for you, but never lie to you. Was it just empty words?"

Still the Hound hadn't moved – but she had seen him shifting his position, swallowing hard and undergoing some kind of internal struggle. Sansa had watched with fascination the changing expressions on his face; anger, frustration, then hardness and determination. After a longest time he had turned his gaze at her.

"Why did the fucking fool Florian follow his cunt Jonquil? Why did the buggering prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried when his lover and sister Queen Naerys married her other brother?"

Sansa had startled, not understanding what he meant. What did the characters of knightly tales and ballads have anything to do with her questions?

He had laughed at her face then, but it had been a hollow laugh, coarse and short-lived.

"For love! Or fucking whatever they call it, the surest poison that makes all men fools! Makes them snivelling gutless creatures who pant and beg for even a smallest favour from the cunt who has bewitched them."

It was then that Sansa had realised that he had been taunting her, using his knowledge of her affection of knightly tales as means to let her know how completely inconsequential she was, and how all she could ever be to him was a target of ridicule.

Over the next few weeks their paths crossed intermittently, albeit not as often as before. Whenever they met, the Hound was his usual sullen self, quiet and menacing. Initially Sansa felt defiant, still smarting of the way he had made fun of her earlier. He didn't seem to be perturbed though, his behaviour being the same as it had been before: brooding, respectful, his touch gentle at times when he needed to support her. He helped her when she descended the steep stairs from the turret, or once, lifted her onto horseback when Joffrey wanted to parade his court in the fields outside the castle.

Sansa noticed though that something was different. He seemed to observe her more than before, fixing his eyes on her whenever she was in his presence and not letting go. She felt conscious under his gaze, especially when it wandered up and down her body, sweeping across her bosom and hips and long legs. She blushed then and stared at the floor, unsure of whether she wanted him to stop looking – or not.

He never taunted her, didn't mock her or spew derision on anything she said. That was also a change from when she had first met him, when he had seemed to enjoy scaring her.

Actually, when Sansa thought about it, it had been a long, long time since he had last insulted her. Except that time in the gardens…

Then it hit her. He hadn't been mocking her at all! Sansa stopped on her tracks, put down the hair brush she had just used to stroke her hair, and forced herself to think that over. Carefully.

I challenged him to tell me why he did these things to me. I reminded him about how he claimed he would never lie.

Oh dear Mother and Maiden and Crone!

As she gasped, realisation truly struck her. The Hound told me that he…loved me!