He had pushed her onto the luscious soft bed, in the chamber the queen had given her. She could smell the wine on his breath, it was putrid, but in that moment she didn't even care about the smell, she was more concerned with the way his fingers were moving up her thigh, towards her private area. She had never seen him this drunk before, he was never this rough with her before. Sandor had always been gentle with her, a little rough, but he had never hurt her until tonight.
Truth be told, she didn't imagine to see him tonight. There was a deadly battle raging on outside, men were burning, men were fighting, and men were dying. It was all to much, but no matter what happened, no matter who won, the battle would not be in her favor. If Stannis won, Ser Ilyne Payne would remove her head from her shoulders, but if the Lannister's won, she would continue to suffer until her brother saved her or until she was no longer a valuable hostage. She would be disposed of, or sold to the highest bidder.
Sansa didn't know which was worse.
She wouldn't think about that now, she couldn't think about that now, as she felt Sandor's manhood slid roughly into her, breaking her seal in one swift move of the hips. She cried out, the tears running down her face at the pain and humiliation of it all.
It was horrible, dreadful.
Had it been from Joffrey or one of the Kingsguard, it still would have hurt but to be by someone she had trusted, someone who had never harmed her, it burned like the wildfire outside. If Sandor's bloody hand hadn't been covering her face, Sansa was sure she could have matched the screaming outside in both pitch and tone.
She lay beneath him, as still as a corpse, waiting for it to be all over. She couldn't stand his breath, she couldn't stand his thrusting, she couldn't stand him.
Another stab in the gut for Sansa Stark, relying on trust in a city full of liars, maybe she is, after all, a stupid little bird.