She could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing as he stared down at her. Waiting for her answer. "I'll be safe here" she finally said. "If Stannis takes the city, he won't harm me. I'm a hostage, and a Stark of Winterfell. I'm his key to taking the North". The Hound glared at her before shaking his head. "Winterfell lies in ruins, girl. Stannis does not need Winterfell in order to claim the North. Nor does he need you. You're one of the last of the Starks. You're one of those standing between him and the North. As long as you live, a Stark can still claim the North. Stannis is a killer. And he will stop at nothing to claim the throne. I could protect you. Keep you safe. Take you North."
Sansa gazed up at the Hound's scarred face. Somehow it no longer filled her with repulsive fascination. Go North. Leave King's Landing. Leave the Red Keep, and the Baratheons and the castle politics. To no longer run the gauntlet of Cersei's bitter tongue or to be abused at Joffrey's whim. To no longer have to look at the kings silly, cruel face. It was tempting. Very tempting. "But where could I go?" she asked him. "If Winterfell is fallen then I have no home. Where would be safe?"
The Hound turned to look out of Sansa's chamber window. Green fire blazed in the distance and cast an unearthly strange light across the night sky. The ships in the bay rocked and crashed as the wildfire consumed them. The screams of dying men could be faintly heard, drifting on the wind. Not for the first time, the Hound flinched and tore his gaze away. I am become craven, he thought to himself. Turning back to Sansa, he said " I could take you to Riverrun. Or to the Eyrie. Your aunt is there, she will shelter you. You must decide. I will not be in the city beyond sunrise. You must decide if you go or stay. If you stay, I will no longer be here to stand between you and the king".
Sansa cast her mind back to the day of her humiliation in the throne room. Tyrion had saved her from a worse beating then, and the Hound had covered her modesty with his cloak. Tyrion was a friend of sorts, she thought. But he was still a Lannister. And her father, they had killed her father and raised his head on a pike. Sudden fury rushed through her. Fury at the queen, at Joffrey, at herself for being so weak and humble, for accepting that she must be ruled by the will of the Lannisters. The Hound was leaving and so would she. "Yes" she said. "I will go with you". She looked into the ruined face of the huge man who stood before her. Battlestained and bloody, he was a killer too. "You won't hurt me."
Sandor Clegane looked back at Sansa Stark. "No, little bird," he growled. "I won't hurt you".