Beta Reader: Another massive thank you to Weshallflyaway for taking time out of her crazy schedule to go over this for me! You are amazing that is all!

Warning/Triggers: There is a vague mention of rape, violence and spoilers that are from the movie Dredd 2012
Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it. Some belongs to the creators of Dredd and the rest is GRRM.
Author's Note: Written months ago and inspired by the final battle scene between Mama and Dredd. This was meant to be a part of an old meme that was on LJ years ago which goes like this: Pick your favourite pairing write/draw them into a moment/scenario/scene from 5 of your favourite movies/books/tv shows etc. So if you haven't seen the movie and want to this is definitely 110% spoiler alert from the movie. Apologies for all inaccuracies, I have not read the comics.

Sansa Stark

They called themselves Judges, but La Dame, or Sansa Stark, as she once was known, knew better. They were servants of the Stranger, the god of death. She also knew that there was really no difference between them and her, not anymore. They were nothing more than hungry wolves, which saw the world as their mutton, or so he had once told her.

Not a day went by when she did not think of Sandor Clegane, of what might have been, of what never could be. He was her fairy tale, her legend, her hero, and her fallen beloved. Like everything else she had once known and loved he was gone too, lost to the war that had destroyed both of their worlds.

Outside her chambers a battle was unfolding, she did not need to question who would survive the outcome. If the mysterious Judge had come this far, there was no telling how much further he would go to ensure her end. After a lifetime of suffering, and sorrow, she had no regrets. 'I'm finally going home,' she murmured to herself. Strapping a bracelet to her wrist, she looked to her guards and gave a hint of a nod. It was show time, and Sansa was not about to disappoint.

A breath later and the judge burst in with all the dignity of a battering ram. She almost smiled as she watched their entry from where she stood behind the railing that separated her bed from the rest of her spacious chambers. The time was finally upon her and she could not have been more at peace for it.

The first Judge was a brute of a man, towering well over six feet; he was built like a bull. Behind him she could see the smaller shape of another judge. With a hint of a smirk she raised her hands up in mock surrender. Lowering her hands against the railing, she watched her two shields aptly nicknamed her queen's guard open fire on her two assailants. Sansa was no fool; her men, though highly trained, would not stand a chance against the beast who wore the armour of Megacity One's finest. After years of waiting, and secretly hoping, she had finally found her noble executioner.

As the fire play unravelled before her, Sansa felt her heart lodge itself in her throat to the sight of the younger judge. The boy, rumoured to be a telepath, wore no helmet leaving his face fully exposed: it was none other than her little brother Bran.

Her parents and elder brother Robb were long dead at the hands of the late senator Tywin Lannister and his questionable contacts. Her other brother, Rickon had been shot down by a pirate named Theon Greyjoy, and Arya, though rumoured alive, had gone missing. Alone in a world too dark to see the light, Sansa grew too cynical to believe that her little brother Bran really had found himself in the stern care of the Judges. She had long since learned that was no such thing as happy endings, most certainly not for her family. Yet Bran was alive, and clearly well cared for despite his dangerous line of work. It was not the sort of reunion Sansa had imagined, for she had never imagined one at all. She did not want him to witness her like this, a broken shell of what his big sister had once been. It was too late now, and she could only hope that one day he would forgive her for what she had become, gods willing, perhaps one day forget it too.

To her horror, Bran caught one of her guard's bullets during the fire fight. While not fatal, it took all of her self control to maintain an expression of indifference. She was guilty of many things, but Sansa could not bear the thought of being responsible for Bran's death as well.

Her little brother staggered out of the line of fire, ducking away as quickly as he could behind the door that led to her chambers. Distracted by her concern for Bran she did not notice the bullet that caught her side until it was too late. The force of the attack was such that it sent her flying back onto her battered bed. With a sharp gasp, Sansa struggled to sit up, watching in dismay as blood spilled freely from her waist. Instinctively, she placed her hand on it, a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

As expected, the mysterious judge made short work of her remaining shields. She had expected no less of the giant man. What little she had learned of the judge during their brief, but violent encounter in the lower levels of Peachtree reminded her far too much of another man she had once known and secretly loved. If she could not die by Sandor's hands, then this pathetic doppelganger would just have to serve as his replacement.

'You have come to finish what you started. Thank-you,' she whispered in relief. She meant every word.

The Judge faltered, uncertain what to make of her statement. It was the first time Sansa was able to get a good look at her executioner. What she saw made her heart race with hope and sink with dread. Much of his face was hidden behind his helmet; what little was revealed was deeply scarred. The left side of his exposed chin and lips were marred in a fashion that was caused by only one thing: fire. In her life Sansa had only known of one man who had such severe burns. At the sight of the aged scars, she immediately knew the horrible, wondrous truth, and its meaning. Sansa's heart both broke, and swelled with joy.

Sandor Clegane removed his helmet, and for the first time in as many years Sansa stared into the grey eyes she would have given her soul to see again. A sad smile crept onto her features to the sight of him. As much as she longed to make it easy for them both, she knew it was not possible. There could be no happy endings for killers like themselves. No sweet songs either, though Sansa, herself, had earned a few urban legends of her own.

'You're a piece of work, Clegane. But then, so am I,' she pressed on in a soft whisper. It hurt to breathe and the blood loss was making the room spin. 'I knew I would get caught someday, it goes with the territory.'

It was expected of her to be the villain, and him, the hero. In his eyes, she could see that the irony was not lost on him either. She had to give the people what they wanted, and the show would go on as it always did.

'Like the jewellery?' Sansa continued with a resigned smile as she showed him the transmitter on her wrist. 'It's a transmitter synched to my heartbeat. If my heart stops beating, the building blows.' The smile was forced; Sandor would already know the truth. She also knew they were not the only ones listening in on their conversation.

'This entire level is rigged with enough high explosives to take out the top fifty stories. If they go, the rest go too. Everyone in it; ash,' she pressed on.

'There is no other way around it, Clegane. You know what you must do.'

Try as she might Sansa was not quite able to meet his gaze. It was all a ruse, but La Dame was a skilled liar. She had, after all, learned from the best; the late former pimp, Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger as he was better known on the street.

Believe in it enough and they'll believe it too, the dead pimp so often used to say. The thought was promptly buried. Petyr's memory, even years after she killed him, still made her skin crawl.

The look of disbelief and doubt in Sandor's eyes revealed that he already knew her bluff. Even as La Dame, Sansa never had anyone killed without a good reason. 'You're bluffing,' he rasped. A dog can always smell a lie, his eyes seemed to add. How she missed those little, fierce, words of wisdom he so often would share with her.

'Am I? I know you won't risk it to find out. You used to claim that you were indifferent to life and death. The weak are nothing more than mutton for wolves you once said. But your actions tell me differently,' Sansa replied with a knowing look. He truly had changed since they last met. Sansa could only hope that he had found peace along the way; of all the men she knew, Sandor Clegane was most deserving of it.

'We're a kilometre above ground. What do you figure the range is on that bloody thing? Can it get through 100 levels of concrete? How about 200?' he warned. She did not know whether to laugh or to cry at his attempts to buy her a way out. Even she knew it was too late for that. There is no range, my love, no detonator, no bomb. It's not real. You know that as well as I do, she sadly mused.

'Why don't you find out Sandor?' she softly replied, sounding more confident than she felt. She hoped that he would buy the ruse long enough to end it as she had planned. The scarred man briefly looked away. When he met her gaze, his expression was stoic, though his grey eyes gave him away, even now he could not hide his feelings for her.

'Stupid little bird,' he said with a soft rasp. 'It doesn't have to end this way.'

Had she been the Sansa she once was and not the La Dame that she had become she would have wept to hear the sorrow in his voice. She knew what Sandor was thinking, and knew he was right. It was too late for her, too late for them.

'This isn't a negotiation. Sentence is death,' she said with a sigh. 'You must take down La Dame and save the day. If I am to die, I want it to be at the hands of someone I love, not in some rotting ISO cube in the middle of a penitentiary,' she explained reaching for his hand. The blood loss was extensive, making it a struggle to find her feet; her wound continued to pulse and throb with pain.

'That's the way of it then?' She nodded to his question, her blue eyes meeting his gaze. 'Then let's be done with it,' he rasped. With a resigned sigh, Sandor took her hand and gently helped her to her feet. In that instant, Sansa knew he understood. Silently, she guided him to the windows of her balcony. The time was almost upon them but there still remained one last matter.

'Sandor,' she whispered meeting his gaze. She could feel the coppery taste of blood on her tongue, and could see stars beginning to dance behind her eyes.

'Promise me that you will find and save my sister.' If he was able to find and save her little brother, then surely he could do the same for Arya. Sharp pains tore through her side as Sansa struggled to breathe through gritted teeth. The coppery taste of blood grew stronger in her mouth, marking her wound as fatal, not that it mattered much anymore.

'Make sure she does not share my fate. You saved Bran, now save her. Bran and Arya are all that's left of my family-my pack. Promise me, that you will protect them.' It was Arya's words that came to lips; only her little sister used to call them her pack. It was good to speak of her sister so freely, no need to pretend, to hide her desperation. Holding her gaze, Sandor gave a nod, as he agreed to help in that growling rasp she so loved. Knowing her sister would soon be in good hands, Sansa felt wave of calm pour over her. Sansa looked up at Sandor and gave a true smile. For the first time in as many years she felt true peace.

'Thank-you. Now please, do your duty and end this nightmare,' she softly pleaded.

The Hound's expression remained stoic, though his eyes were filled with silent sorrow, as he spoke. 'Citizen Sansa Stark, your crimes are multiple homicides, and the manufacture and distribution of narcotics' It was no more than he had done in his lifetime, but that was not the point.

'How do you plead?' he concluded, his rough voice oddly gentle.

Sansa felt another wave of calm pour over her as she leaned into his embrace. She wanted to breathe in his scent, to put it to memory, so as to carry it beyond. 'Guilty as charged,' she whispered, breathing a soft sigh. Knowing what awaited her, Sansa reached with a blood stained hand for one of the slo-mo inhalers that sat in a sample box she was planning to ship out of Peachtree that morning.

Noting Sandor's quizzical look she explained. 'They say you should never sell what you smoke. I've sold it all, so I've smoked none,' she confessed, studying the inhaler with disinterest. 'I suppose today is as good as any to try.'

Placing the inhaler to her cracked lips she pulled the trigger, and immediately felt her world drawing still. Looking straight into Sandor's grey eyes, Sansa put every new scar, every old crevice, every last burn mark to memory once more. Pleased by what she saw, she rose to the balls of her feet and kissed him full on the mouth with all the love she had ever borne for him. Sandor Clegane was Sansa Stark's first real kiss, and gods be damned, she was certain it was even better than making love. Not that she had ever made love, the way it was meant to be. The only sex she had ever known was never of her choosing, memories of that time still haunted her; leaving her with no hope in men, or relationships in general.

Sandor tasted of stale Dorne red sour or autumn wine, as it was known, death and spice. His throaty growl reverberated through her body, sending chills down her spine. Unable to resist, she lightly bit his bottom lip, inviting him to deepen their kiss and he complied without hesitation. Sansa immediately exhaled, filling his lungs with the slo-mo that had once filled hers. The toxin, though potent, enabled them both to linger in that precious moment for longer than normally possible. A low moan escaped her lips as she pressed herself hard against him. He gave a deep growl and Sansa felt herself drowning in the fire of his embrace; she could not have been happier for it.

After a lifetime of ugliness and horror, she thanked the gods, a first since the early days of her teens, for this moment of perfect beauty. Never had she felt more safe, more loved, or more content as she did in that moment. He was her Florian, and this was her true song. For the last time in her life, Sansa Stark knew true joy. As their kisses and embrace grew more passionate, she felt the drug beginning to fade. Reluctantly she drew back, ending their kiss.

Gazing up at him with a gentle smile she reached up to caress his scarred cheek; feeling the deep crevices and grooves of his burned flesh. She had never felt anything more wondrous in her life. How long she had dreamed of this moment, she could no longer remember. Holding her gaze he studied her intently. His eyes of grey, so filled with love and sorrow, now shone with unshed tears. At the sight of his unbridled emotions, Sansa felt her own eyes threaten to rain.

Closing his eyes, Sandor drew in a deep breath, as though clearing his thoughts. Watching him, Sansa felt her heart break for him. Her beloved Hound deserved better than this, in truth, they both did. In the end life had a funny way of making everything come together, for better or for worse.

'Good-bye, little bird,' he hoarsely whispered, his scarred mouth twitching slightly.

'Good-bye, Sandor,' she softly replied.

To her relief he did not hesitate. One moment she was on solid ground, the next her world had exploded in a glittering shower of colour. With great care she twisted her wounded body around to create the formation of a diver about to plunge into water.

Back when President Joffrey Lannister was still alive and she had been his fianceé, Sansa used to often dream of taking to the skies. How she longed to feel the wind slip beneath her arms, to float amongst the clouds and drift far, faraway, like the birds of old. Now years later, her dream had become a reality. As the ground rushed up to meet her, Sansa Stark smiled as she closed her eyes. Spreading her arms, she drew her last breath, and flew away.

The caged little bird was finally free.