AN: Yes, I have returned after such a long absence! But I couldn't stop myself! This is my retelling of GRR Martin's world and characters. I will change events and turnouts, change character deaths, and bring in exciting new characters that no one ever expected! Character appearances will probably match the show more than the book, as I have watched both current seasons (anxiously waiting for S3!) and still currently reading book two. So...enjoy!

Another Tale To Be Told

Chapter One

She had not moved from the same location in a number of days, only on the occasion of force to rise to either use the chamber pot or face the dreaded king and his false "knights" once more, either in private, or at court with a silent audience. The double luxurious bed she lay upon with it's dark oak frame with lions and stags carved into the head and foot board and painted Lannister gold smelled more of sweat and other natural bodily odours than the gentle, sweet lavender scents the silks and linens were weekly washed in. Her handmaidens no longer changed and washed her linens every day any more for they had other duties with shifts tending to the Lady Margaery. Her pale slender arms were covered in the deep purple and dark green bruises from the metal covered hands of Ser Meryn at the order of the Boy King that ruled all the Seven Kingdoms, the Boy King she was supposed to marry and bare him many sons and daughters with "beautiful blonde hair" she had once said, but he was no true Baratheon and the proof was there all too see a top his twisted head except she felt no love for him, only hatred and distaste, the very thought of him burned to her to the core and his name always left a rotten taste on her pink tongue, Joffery...Joffery...Joffery the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and Sansa Stark wanted him dead more than anything else this world.

Sansa lay on her left side in the foetal position; it made her feel safer, as if she body could protect itself from the cruelty that lay in wait outside her chamber doors. Her flowing fiery red locks of the Tully's that once shone with a natural radiance that made most females envious was all swooped over her shoulder twisted and knotted as she clutched it tight while staring out of the large window and spying on the night sky, the aches from the marks on her flesh worsened with contact, even the smooth light silk blankets draped over her caused a protest, but she tried hard to ignore it or at least focus on other things. But sometimes it was too great and nothing had the power to distract her from the pain. For instance this day was one of the worse, as it was Sansa's sixteenth Name Day, and for it, the vile King Joffery had her publicly beaten and humiliated in front of the entire court once more. First they hit her and kicked her, then brutally stripped her while she was begging on her knees as they beat her again, but Joffery found pleasure in Sansa's desperate pleas for compassion and could only bellow to the court in response, "there will be no mercy for the tainted blood of a traitor!" Neither Tyrion nor Sandor was there to save her this time, or at least soften the blow of the mental and physical torture. Tyrion could not save her as he no longer held the power of being the King's Hand and now only had just as much power in the blasted city as she did. Sandor could not protect her either, or drown her in his stained white cloak of the kingsguard to shield her modesty as he was no longer here in King's Landing, and Sansa had no knowledge of where he was other than the North, and that he hadn't been seen since he deserted his duties at the Mud Gate fighting off the invading charge of Stannic Baratheon which to Sansa's dismay was some time ago and she had no clear thought of time of how long ago he left nor when she had been relieved of her own duties of becoming the unwilling bride of King Joffery as another took her place, Margaery Tyrell whose house gathered in arms with the forces of Tywin Lannister and drove the invaders back into the sea! The kind, gentle Margaey with an ever revealing neckline had quickly won the hearts of the populace in King Landing as well as House Tyrell as not only did they help win the war against Stannis, but also beat the war of famine on the streets. However, even though Joffery's heart and betrothal belongs another Sansa's hope and happiness of freedom was soon cut short as she discovered that Joffery does not release play things, and Sansa, was his favourite pretty little play thing.

Joffery was so benevolent with Margaery, so gentle and sweet the way a young prince should, the way they were described in the songs and the way he was with Sansa before the horrific incident with the direwolves and Micah the butcher's boy on the journey south when her honourable Lord Father Eddard Stark was still alive and her sister Arya was around to irritate her temper and grate her nerves with her boyish misbehaving and wildish attitude. Even to that day Sansa had not received any word on her younger sister since her disappearance the day their father was murder on the Great Sept of Baelor. The ever-so frightened Sansa found herself wishing more often than not her sister was trapped here in this little cage with her so she wasn't alone, or be absolutely free together back home in keep of Winterfell with Robb, the King of the North, her mother, Catelyn Tully, and her little brothers crippled Bran and baby Rickon and even Jon Snow who was off at the Wall, living all kinds of crazy adventures and protecting the realm from the monsters kept hidden on the other side of the great ancient Wall. To all Seven Hells burn them all for she was jealous of all of them, even her deceased Lord Father whose rotting dead pale gaze no longer cursed her from the spikes since Tyrion had his body and head returned home to be buried within the dark crypts underneath Winterfell many months before The Battle of Blackwater Bay and Sansa so wish she was buried deep within those stone walls instead of being cooped here, at least than she will be in Winterfell, close to her great family and her Lord Father always in sight of her stone eyes.

Sansa's large vivid blue eyes were always half lidded and blood shot from fierce tears these days, and her lids suddenly began to sting and grow heavy, even though the only time she moved today was to her Name Day "celebration" while being "escorted" to and fro by heartless Ser Meryn Trant and cowardly, but cruel Ser Boros Blount. The young Stark girl closed her eyes and thought of her true home in the chilling North while hoping to receive the bliss of dreamless sleep, as dreams only brought her nightmares of even more malice and torment. When sleep finally gave her it's sweet embrace after ten long minutes she was granted neither of what she hoped for, or what she feared. Instead, she was finally shown mercy by the Gods, Old and New by giving her the chance to relive a memory from her past in full detail down to the last pebble. Sadly to her displeasure it was still in Kings Landing, but it was a happy memory as did not involve the King, the Queen Regent, Lord Petyr Baelish, Maester Pycelle, Lord Tywin nor any of the Kingsguard. Yet it was also deeply saddening as well as frightening as it was the last time she had seen Sandor Clegane, one of the very few in these walls she held even a shed of trust with, she had begun to see him as a protector, maybe even a friend in that forsaken place after he stopped her from pushing Joffery to his death, wiped the blood from her split lip after numerous of armoured backhands from Ser Meryn by her father's head as well as giving her countless advice on surviving in the snake pit that was court, even though he oft intentionally intimidated her and bullied her with words on the sweetness of killing and how even her father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell enjoyed the sin of murder.

I rushed down the extensive dim hallways with vast and sinister shadows that danced along the cold stone walls due to the flame torches that were mounted to the walls by thick black iron rings. My velvet slippers making too much sound for comfort along the polished marble, but there was no other sound to be heard and no one else to be seen, and for that, I was glad. I only opened the heavy wooden door as much as I needed to in order to slip through quietly before hastily closing it and latching the door with the provided iron for such tasks at both top and bottom.

My breathing was so heavy and uneven that only when I had stopped did I notice that my lungs burned, my chest pulsing so heavily I thought my ribs would crack and whenever I sucked in more air it was like fanning a flame as it only caused my lungs more agony. My chambers were dark except for one convenient lantern upon my writing desk that was mysteriously burning three candles. 'Who lit that?' I pondered, but it was only in my mind for a split second before a saw a familiar figure on my bedside table in the faint distant glow from the lantern, I rushed to the lantern to salvage it, the metal handle had grown quite warm from the flame but my adrenaline had control over me so I felt little to nothing but I still took cautious, delicate steps to a littered table that was opposite to where the lantern had previously resided. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the small shape again, only now with more light could I distinguish it to be the very same doll my admirable Lord Father had given me one morning while we broke our fast, but I had claimed to be too old for dolls and other such childish things and thus I rudely rejected my father's gift, or what could arguably be a bribe. Although I still reluctantly took the juvenile play thing too my chambers after the morning meal, after my father failed to discard of it as implied. I picked it up and rolled it over in my hands, feeling the soft cotton fabric with my tiny meagre fingers but then all of a sudden my still beating heart nearly escaped up my throat and with a sharp gasp and turn when an unexpected sound was heard, or rather a voice, a deep croaky, raspy but familiar voice that still shocked me. "The lady started to panic..."

The culprit of breaking the silence was none other than Sandor Clegane, sitting on the end of my bed with his back to the door; only now did I notice the strong, coppery stench of blood, dry wine and salty sweat. I couldn't help but wonder- how did I not notice him or the smell before? 'That answers the lamp question.' I blurted out what was he doing here and he responded by explaining that he was leaving, leaving to a place that wasn't burning. We conversed; all the while he took frequent swigs from a flagon and never looked in my direction. Not until he suddenly had me on my back on the bed and was holding a knife to my throat and covering my mouth with his large rough hand to muffle my cries, I was visibly quivering but he did nothing to ease my fear this time. His smell only strengthened and burned my nose, his heated breathe stunk of a mixture of ale and red wines and I could see blood smeared on the hand he used to cover my mouth, almost suffocating me "if you scream...I'll kill you," his words sounded more drunken than before, I feared for my life and didn't know what to expect...but he removed his filthy hand from my face just as jade light filled momentarily filled the room as something was shot into sky outside. He hissed and kept his eyes tightly shut until it passed and when the only light in the room again came from the flickering flames in the lantern.

I was staring up at him, my blue eyes bulging with fear, 'is he...is he going to kill me?' the dreadful question kept spinning round and round in my head. He asked me if I wanted to know who was winning the battle outside, I only gave him a shaky nod and an almost silent yes, with that he responded with a snicker, "I only know who lost...me." How drunk had he gotten in the last two minutes? For now he seemed almost a completely different man. I could not say anything in return, I was too frightened, the knife at my throat shook and wavered and for a moment I thought he was taking it away as it drooped, but I was wrong, after he took a deep gulp he straightened the blade against my slender neck, the blade was still warm from battle and wet in places with another's blood. "Little bird..." he managed to could finally pronounce, he blinked several times and burped with his mouth closed before continuing, "sing me a song, my little bird, the song you promised me," I only shook my head, I couldn't even remember promising him a song, when did I promise that? Maybe it was during a time of stress or under the influence of milk of the poppy that Maester Pycelle often gave me to help me sleep and dull the pain from the beatings.

"I can't!" he was practically sitting on top of me, it was the first time anyone had been this close to me on a bed, and it made my thoughts wonder to other, more pleasant fantasises. "Men are dying out there and you want me to sing to you?" The sky outside my window lit up with jade once more, but this time he did not hiss, he did not close his eyes till it had passed, he only stared into my own eyes intently, his left eye only half lidded as it always was due his severe scar., I just wanted to stroke them. To feel the rough, uneven skin under my fingertips but at the same time his scars terrified me, though less than they did back when I first saw them at Winterfell all those years ago. The knife disappeared from my throat and it fell beside me noiselessly."I'm leaving," he said again, as if he couldn't remember telling me before, but what he said next was different. "I can keep you safe. They all fear me. I swear...no one will hurt you again little bird, or I will kill them," he lifted my back from the bed to pull me close. He was forcing me to sit up now, my face now even closer to his, and once again my mind wondered... did he kiss me? I didn't know if he really kissed me or if it was just part of the fantasy running through my head, but when I looked at him he gave no sign to an answer which only caused me blink, but he took offence.

"Still can't bear to look can you!" and he shoved me back down on to the bed, the knife back at my throat, "little bird..." he tsked, "Florian and Jonquil you said, sing it to me, now, sing little bird, sing...for your little life" I gave him half of what he wanted, I sang to him but not the song he asked for, not that he noticed in his drunken state, I couldn't sing that particular song as I couldn't remember it. All the songs I knew and learned growing up had vanished, but one finally sprang to mind after Sandor held the knife closer and turned the blade at a menacingly slow pace against my gooseflesh prickled skin. My voice was thin and frail, it trembled in my ears; what a feeble attempt. I had hoped for better but I knew I couldn't muster anything more in such circumstances. When my voice trailed off to silence he removed the blade from my throat which plummeted to the floor with a tedious thud. He released his grip of me but never moved from where he was above me. I could now move my hands, and my left hand seemed to have a mind of its own when it found its way to his cheek, the destroyed, scarred cheek. I felt him flinch and retreat slightly but my hand stayed where it was. I could feel them under my fingers, the mass of folds of charred scarred flesh with a pinkness that was invisible in the night. The surface of his scarred side was rough and irregular just like I imagined; the little glowing light we had from the lantern dimly lit the a disfigurement in an ominous and cruel fashion. "Little bird..." I felt moisture on his cheeks, two different kinds; one was thick and sticky while the other was light and delicate like water. Was he crying? "You must come with me." Once again he repeated what he said earlier; "I will keep you safe..."

He rose from the bed and I sat up again and watched him, he made his way around the bed but before he could get too far I asked, "You will not hurt me?"

He turned, removed his white cloak of the kingsguard which was stained grey with dust, soot and blood and placed it around my shoulders, "aye Little Bird, I won't hurt you..."

The dream faded and Sansa woke to find it was still dark outside but slowly turning a lighter shade of grey. The food that had been placed on her nightstand some time yesterday, she wasn't quite sure when, was still there and had grown stone cold as she had left most of the honey roasted gammon with various fruits and vegetables. In her recent state of depression, she had already lost stone in weight as she no longer had much of an appetite, plus she liked the idea of starving to death as it finally meant an end to her caged life as a prisoner to the Lannisters. She began to think on her dream, and thought of everything that had happened since Sandor had left Kings Landing without her. "Why did I refuse?" she whispered to herself, her cheeks felt tight as if they had just dried from being wet, she touched her cheeks felt the familiar sensation of dry tears plus the feeling of puffy eyes. What had she cried for? Her regret? For Sandor? Did she miss freedom? Or him?

Sansa returned to lying in the foetal position on her side, once again staring out the window. She closed her eyes slowly but when she did they suddenly snapped open again and sat upright at a realisation. There in the darkness she could see a dark figure on the end of her bed, not sitting like Sandor did in her dream, but was balancing on the wooden foot board in a type of crouch, knees bent and sticking outwards, one hand resting on their knee and the other gripping the wood between their feet. "Wh...whu...wh-who a-are you?"