A/N: Alright, I am new to the GOT section of fanfiction and I will admit I took a few liberties with this one-shot, namely a bit of a 'what if the Hound hadn't left King's Landing during the Battle of Blackwater' scenario. This obviously takes place in that sort of in-between time between Blackwater and the Purple Wedding, so that said I still do hope you all enjoy it and like Sandor, I tend to avoid flames.
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones, the series or the books or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin and HBO are the ones you'll want to talk to about that.
...
King Joffrey Baratheon smirked down from his seat as he watched the knights preparing themselves for the jousting tournament that had been arranged in honor of his nameday.
"Will you be riding in the lists as well, Your Grace?" his betrothed, Margaery Tyrell asked as her smile brightened the way it always seemed to whenever she looked at him.
Joffrey frowned and shook his head.
"No, the Hound shall ride in my stead," he answered imperiously. "It is my nameday after all, and I can't risk killing anyone on this day."
"Of course, Your Grace is right," Margaery nodded. "I would truly fear for the man with the misfortune to be your opponent."
This earned a devilish grin from Joffrey, who didn't realize that this was indeed true in more ways than one; any man who managed to unhorse the king ran the risk of injuring or worse killing him. And if that should happen, the unfortunate knight might very well be put to death. And should the young monarch lose the match, the resulting tantrum could bring about bloodshed as well, nameday or no. Better that his bodyguard act as his proxy in the joust. At least the Hound could be controlled.
At the moment, Joffrey was too busy berating a servant to realize this. Then, as the Hound rode past them, he seemed to actually slow down ever so slightly as Lady Sansa Stark rose from her seat.
...
The Stark girl no longer had her fiery, red hair styled to resemble the Queen Regent's. No, half of it was pulled back and the rest was left to fall freely to her waist. Her gown was a soft, deep purpe, unlike the previously pale-colored gowns she'd once favored...
Sandor Clegane growled with annoyance. Why in the Seven Hells did he even care?!
The girl said nothing as she approached from her seat, her eyes motioning to his lance and her normally meek little face now set in a subtle look of determination that he had only seen the one time, when her father was executed and the king showed her his severed head...when she had nearly pushed the boy from the walkway...and had he not known it would have meant both of their heads, he wouldn't have stopped her.
"What do you want, girl?" he barked with exasperation, but nevertheless his lance still tilted and hung at an angle where it just happened to be within reach and in an instant, Lady Sansa produced what appear to be a pale blue handkerchief from the folds of her sleeve and she quickly but carefullt tied it around the lance.
"A rag to clean the blood off with," the Hound spat tactlessly.
Sansa bristled slightly, but said nothing as she returned to her seat.
...
Joffrey's eyes flickered with rage at the sight. How dare the Stark girl bestow a favor upon the Hound! Was she really stupid enough to imply to everyone that her champion was a lowly dog?
"Perhaps Lady Sansa could do with another lesson, Ser Meryn," he murmured spitefully, earning a slightly smirk from Meryn.
"My love," Margaery's hand rested daintily upon Joffrey's arm. "I am sure Lady Sansa meant to offense to you. The Hound is riding in your stead, as you pointed out."
"And?" Joffrey challenged.
"The Hound is but your proxy. Lady Sansa is no longer to be your bride, but clearly she still bears great love and admiration for you, as she should for a king."
"Yes, she should," Joffrey agreed, his temper receding. "Perhaps her traitorous family's fates have made her finally realize where her loyalties should lie."
"Yes, Your Grace," Margaery nodded, pleased to see that the boy-king now seemed to be in better spirits.
...
It came as little surprise to anyone that the victor of the match had been the Hound. His opponent, a mere knight of little standing. But the match would have more than likely ended the same way if the Hound had gone up against another of the Kingsguard. Only his own brother seemed to ever be a match for him, but it went without saying that those two would not be permitted to be set against one another. Not after what had happened when the Hound had stopped the Mountain from killing Ser Loras Tyrell just a few years previously.
Sansa felt the corners of her mouth tug upward slightly as the Hound rode past her. He made no attempt to untie her favor from his lance, nor did he stop. But she saw his gaze shift toward her, but only a fleeting glimpse.
She couldn't understand why she had wanted to give him the token. Perhaps it was to spite Joffrey for the humiliation and torment he forced her to endure, and even a small victory over the golden-haired but black-hearted monarch was better than none. That was all...
...
As the Hound united the little length of fabric from his lance, he caught sight of a single little bird, flawlessly embroidered in silver thread against the pale blue.
House Stark's sigil was a direwolf, but Lady Sansa wasn't stupid enough to risk being seen with anything bearing a symbol of traitors, lest she be accused of siding with her family against the king. No, a bird no one would think twice. Just a little patch of fabric, a little bit of embroidery sewn by a little girl.
But Sandor knew right away what it was meant to be; she acknowledged those words he would never be able to say...the words she knew even if he never spoke them out loud...
It was a secret response for the Hound from his Little Bird.
...
...
Alright, I do hope everyone enjoyed that. I might do another one in the near future.