In the words of House Stark: ANOTHER CHAPTER IS COMING.

Hey guys! I'm thinking about making this one a long story(like more than 5 chapters worth) about Sansa and Sandor. Mostly it'll just be musings. Perhaps there will be actual plot...hopefully. And maybe some of them will just be plain smut or fluff. Who knows? It might just be a melting pot? But in order to have maybe somewhat of a timeline I'm starting out where Sansa is captured at King's Landing, and I might branch out til the Blackwater incident. Aaaaand quite possibly make this an AU with Sandor and Sansa on the run from Lannisters. Yeah. This is my plan. But whatever. Plans are for nerds. *throws terribly constructed 'plan' out the window* Anywhoooooooo. This first chapter isn't much. No, really. Nothing too important happens. But since these two are kinda...subtle in their interaction I'm hoping that's okay.

PS. Would you guys like other pairings involved as well? Gendrya?

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or any of it's characters. That belongs to the incredible genius(and insanely sadistic) George R.R Martin. (no really he's a sadist. Why else would he put all this effort into constructing wonderful characters and then putting them through hell only to kill them off? Because he likes to torture his readers. Hence SADIST)

Teasing

Sansa sat at the table in the great hall, trying to keep the melancholy off her face. It was scary how sometimes she could lose herself in the mold, the mold she was trying to fit in at King's Landing. She was the naïve and innocent little girl, always dreaming of knights and romance, or so she desperately tried to pretend. No, those dreams died along with her father. Sansa would stare at herself for hours in the mirror, not out of vanity, but only so she could remember who she, Sansa Stark, really was underneath the layers of falsehood. However, after so long, so many weeks turned into months, of trying to keep her head above water it grew harder and harder to paste that insipid little smile on her face.

So there she was, sitting next to the Queen, while Joffrey sat at the head of the table. She wasn't sure if she was glad or not at the fact. His mother was just as venomous as he, but not quite so vindictive towards her. Sansa could still feel a dull ache in her abdomen from yesterday. If she sat just so she could almost forget the discolored bruises lying underneath her silken gown. Almost.

She wasn't even sure why there was a feast going on at the moment. It was probably best that she not know anyway. Knowing Joffrey it could be a celebration feast for some battle Lord Tywin won against her brother Rob, just to spite her. Sansa spotted Jeyne at the far end of the table. She and Jeyne had not spent as much time together lately, perhaps due to the Queen's influence? It might be wise not to involve her too much anyway, lest she catch the eye of Joffrey and be used as another instrument for her torture, just like her father. The two friends locked eyes and offered the other a quick smile.

Sansa noticed the guards standing by. She kept her gaze away from the ones who had beaten her, not noticing the leer Ser Meryn sent her way. She saw the Hound standing at attention along the wall. She tried to gage his expression, but he wouldn't spare her a glance.

Shrugging her shoulders she dug into her meal. The food was absolutely delicious. Sansa stuffed herself, as politely as a lady could, until she could not eat another bite. Then the dessert was shuffled in by some servants. Sansa eyed the lemon cakes on a platter nearby. Oh those were her favorite, but she really shouldn't…. Daintily she scooped one right up and took a little nibble.

'Oh my…' It was as if heaven had been poured into her mouth. The texture, the flavoring, the soft white icing on the top was just perfect. That lemon cake really hit the spot. Sansa could feel her eyelids flutter closed as a small, "mmm", escaped her throat. She ate every last bite. She even savored the leftover crumbs on her fingers. She could feel eyes on her as she stuck her finger in her mouth. Looking around the room, she tried to pinpoint it as she sucked the white frosting from her fingers. Finally her eyes laid upon Sandor. She startled when she realized that he had been watching her this entire time. Quickly she pulled her slightly moist hand away from her mouth with a pop, and reached for a cleaning cloth. 'I can't believe he saw me acting so unladylike!' Sansa thought with a blush. Unconsciously she licked her lips as she tried to put her appearance back in order.

She tried to glance up at him again, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. Slightly disappointed, and wondering why in the world she would be disappointed at that Sansa excused herself once the meal was winding down.

She didn't see a certain man's eyes as they followed after her retreating form however, and, had she been looking closer, she would have noticed the white knuckled fists clenched tightly at his side the entire time.

Sandor replayed that night, along with many other fond memories he had of the little bird, over again in his mind. He remembered glancing over and catching the expression on her face as she first bit into that damned lemon cake, the sheer bliss plainly written there for all to see. He saw with darkened eyes as she sucked on those dainty pale fingers of hers, the way her cheeks hollowed and her pink lips puckered.
An imperceptible shiver ran down his spine when her eyes met his, and for a brief moment he pictured her doing this for him. He imagined a scene where Sansa, innocent little bird that she is, in his bed sucking on things she ought not to and looking at him as she is now. When she removed her fingers and licked her lips a final time Sandor could only stare fixatedly at the wall, lest he come undone at the seams.

Most times the little bird went unnoticed due to her withdrawn countenance these days, but judging from the looks of the other Kingsguard Sandor deciphered that more than enough men had been watching much to his own displeasure.

Sparring

Sansa was walking through the halls with her handmaidens at her side. During her time at Kings Landing she has learned to never be strolling about the grounds without them. They provided the perfect barrier to unwanted attention. However, none of them were a comfort to her. More than likely two were spies for the Queen, and the others had their own allegiances which were certainly not Sansa.

She was on her way to the sept to pray, as she usually did, when she heard clanging and grunting noises. The sound of steel on steel was a familiar one to her and she recognized it immediately. It sounded like they were being attacked! Sansa's heart fluttered in her throat. She remained calm however, and found a small window on the way. Peering out of it she saw the men in the training grounds. They were practicing. Placing a hand over her chest she breathed out a little sigh of relief.

'Oh good heavens! Of course that's what they were doing….How stupid of me. If the Hound were to have been here he certainly would have called me a stupid little girl.'

And, just as she was pondering what the Hound would say, it seemed he was summoned by her thoughts for he entered the training arena that very moment and began to spar with another knight.

"My Lady?",one of her handmaidens questioned, confusion lining her face. Sansa turned to her, almost completely forgetting that they were there.

"I just wanted to watch the men fight, is all", she offered by way of explanation. Then she turned back to the window, the sept forgotten in vein of this new entertainment. Usually she wasn't very fond of any sort of activity where you were outside getting dirty and sweaty. However, the Hound was quite impressive to watch in his element, even to someone as ignorant of swordplay as she. He was of course, taller and larger than any of the men out there, giving him an advantage. The knight he was fighting however was young and agile. While Sandor was indeed very experienced and fast as a whip, his days of constant battle had taken a toll on his body. It was an interesting match to say the least. If Sandor could get a blow on the lad then assuredly he would fall, but the boy was darting left and right. It was like the Hound was trying to catch smoke. Whenever his blade looked as if it would lop his arm right off, he would disappear a few steps the other way.

The Hound wasn't stupid though. He quickly learned that he was outmatched in speed and dexterity. Sandor feigned left, the knight saw it and darted away. Unfortunately for him, he darted right where Sandor wanted him. He never even saw it coming. A blow on the head with the flat of his blade knocked him right out. All the other knights cheered, and a few gave some hearty laughs at the boy's expense.

Although Sandor won, he didn't seem to smile or be pleased at the matter. He scooped the lad up over his shoulder and deposited him on a nearby bench. He reached down at his hip for his flask. Uncorking it he poured some of the contents out on the boy's face. Spluttering and coughing he bolted upright. Dazed and confused the two exchanged words. Sansa couldn't hear from so far away, but she found it interesting that Sandor almost….in his own way, seemed to be looking out for the young knight.

She was thinking on the matter when once again one of her handmaidens brought her out of her thoughts.

"Pardon me, My Lady. But would you like to get a closer view? The walk to the training grounds is not far from the sept." Sansa's head snapped up, and she stared at the other women around her. Suddenly she felt very exposed, being in the middle with all of their eyes staring at her.

"No. Thank you. I think I will pray some other time. I would like to go back to my chambers now." Sansa kept her voice neutral, yet courteous.

Once she was back inside the confines of her room she excused them all. 'Finally', she thought, 'A bit of privacy'. Sansa lay down and immersed herself in her thoughts.

Contemplating

A knock on her door woke her. Blearily rubbing her eyes she wondered when she had fallen asleep. She stifled a sleepy yawn, as she stretched her arms above her head. It was dark as night in her room. Combing her fingers through her long tresses she hoped she was presentable enough. Another knock sounded before a voice mumbled, "I'm coming in."

Her eyes widened as Sandor Clegane strode into her bed chambers.

Blushing, Sansa spoke from her place on the disheveled bed. "I'm sorry Ser. I was asleep."

He scoffed as he replied, "I'm no Ser. As soon as you get that through your pretty head the better."

Sansa did not know where to look, so her eyes kept darting around the room. "I do not know what else to call you."

The Hound stood staunchly in the middle of her bedchamber, one hand resting on the hilt of his scabbard, giving her a steely eyed squint.

"Everybody else usually just calls me either the Hound, or Sandor. Pick one", he drawled.

Sansa thought it over as she stared at her pale hands twisting in her lap. "Well, calling you the Hound is like calling you an a-animal. And I don't like that very much." Her words had faltered when she dared to glance up at him only to blush again when she noticed his piercing stare fixated on her.

He just shrugged his shoulders as if it didn't matter to him, which it probably didn't.

"And calling you by your birth name just seems so…." Her words trailed off as she fumbled for the right word. Intimate. She wanted to say, but saying the word aloud seemed like it would also be improper. A man and a woman, alone, in a room, discussing what to call one another was like discussing the intricacies of their relationship. If one wanted to call the other by their very intimate birth name, didn't that speak volumes about where they wanted the relationship to go?

'Woah', Sansa thought, 'I am thinking about this way too much. What relationship? We don't even know each other. Not really anyway.'

After Sansa had sort of trailed off her sentence Sandor took it upon himself to pick it right back up again.

"Come with me girl. You are late for your evening supper, and the King has sent for you."

Startled out of the weird direction her thoughts had been taking Sansa stood up and taking a quick glance at herself in the looking glass she deemed herself presentable. Sandor was waiting for her by the door and followed behind her as she strode out.

The walk to the dining hall was swift and silent. Sansa did not want to make the King wait any longer, lest she anger him further. As for the silence she felt that there was not much to say between the two. Sandor did not seem like one for light-hearted conversation. She feared that if she were to remark on the loveliness of the weather he would only bark out a comment about her inane chirping, or if she were to comment on the fact that she acquired a new gown today he would laugh cruelly at her and say, "Pretty clothes for the pretty bird", or some such nonsense.

She sighed, her whole body deflating. She did not understand it. For some reason she wanted, no needed Sandor. As a friend. She needed to talk to him. Without all the courtesies and the pretenses that entrapped her here. She was desperate for one true friend. And somehow, she felt that Sandor could be that friend. He was harsh, brutally so. He often laughed in her face and called her stupid, naïve, and foolish. 'But he's also called you pretty', a tiny voice reminded her. Yes, but what good does being pretty get you? It gets you an awful fiancée like King Joffrey. It gets you leers from the other men in the kingsguard that you're not entirely sure of the meanings behind. And it gets you pinned to the ground with your legs spread apart as four other sweating men are above you unbuckling their pants as they-

Sansa closed her eyes tightly. She wouldn't think on it.

Sandor glanced down at the girl, noticing her strange behavior. He didn't comment on it though. Her thoughts were her own, and he would not encroach upon them, even if he was pretty sure he could take a few guesses as to what they were. Sansa had gotten better at concealing her emotions since coming to King's Landing, but she couldn't fool him. He had a way of knowing things about people. Perhaps it was due to finding out the cruelties of life at such a young age, but people didn't put on a farce in front of him. More often than not they didn't care what he thought. Or perhaps it was simply because he was a pessimist and just assumed the worst about everybody that he was usually right. Either way he seemed especially attuned to the Stark girl.

The two were immersed in their own thoughts as they went into the dining room. Sandor went to his place to watch over the King, and Sansa went to the table, begging pardons for being late. It was most discourteous after all.

And voila! See? I told you it wasn't much in the way of excitement. Please review and comment though! I eagerly await feedback! xD