The door to the White Sword Tower opened with a small creak, as timid as the young thing standing behind it. How could she have forgotten her cloak? It was by the grace of the Gods that none had seen her. Sansa bid her head in silent prayer as she passed through the doorway.

She never noticed the White Sword Tower until she had aspied Ser Meryn Trant a fortnight ago hurrying toward a curiously slender structure built at an angle into the castle wall. She cringed as the knight had passed by her, but with no king to give an order he did not raise a hand against her. Although Sansa could not have said the same of a few days past. Her back ached slightly as she pushed the door closed. Joffrey had been especially unpleasant after learning of her brothers last victory and she had paid the price. When the gleam that so often appeared behind Joffrey's eyes did not fade after her first thrashing she knew he had not been sated. She had feared for her life that day, until Sandor Clegane had suggested the king find pleasure elsewhere. Sansa could still feel Joffrey's eyes upon her, wild and cruel, undressing her piece by piece till she was reduced to a naked shivering thing.

The door shut with a resounding clank, bringing Sansa back to her surroundings. She stood in a white, round room with walls of whitewashed stone adorned by white woolen tapestries. Her heart leapt into her throat, beating to a rhythm she could not follow. She had not seen the Hound since that day but his voice still rang in her ears.

"The girl is worth nothing, it's her brother you want."

Shock had passed his face, then boiling rage took over. She had been quick to collect herself, fleeing when the light of Joffrey's anger had shifted from her, to the Hound. The king had not forgiven Sandor Clegane for speaking against him and punished the man by leaving him naught but trivial duties away from his presence. He did not suffer the same abuse as Sansa. A man of his stature was more dangerous than the meek little thing she was.

Of the six knights of the kingsguard at King's Landing five were now with the king day in and day out: guarding his chamber door as he slept, sitting in for ser Jaime Lannister at the small council, drinking and feasting when it pleased his Grace. The Hound was never among them. Sansa could only have guessed that he were here, at the tower of the kingsguard, until king Joffrey saw fit to welcome him back to his presence.

She knew the tower must be nearly empty, save perhaps one man. But she could not say that she knew why she was here.

She was frightened - not of her surroundings but of a word Joffrey had had with her the other night.

"I don't need to marry you to put a son in your belly" he'd said, his wormy lips pulled back into a triumphant smile. Part of her worried that he meant it, that late at night she would find the young king in her bed groping at her.

She breathed in deeply. That fear still did not explain her presence here.

"Awfully quiet for ones so drunk"

Sansa turned to the voice clutching at her bodice in sudden awareness. He towered over her, his scars dancing in the light of the lonely torch bearing a flame that was sure to die. She looked toward her feet. Her heart curiously still where only moments it had been rattling the cage.

"Ser Sandor," she replied, eyes never leaving the blue-and-pearl slippers she donned.

"You are not my brothers." he said, rather stupidly.

"No, ser Sandor." Sansa replied in a murmur.

"Stop calling me that." Sandor Clegane rasped. "I am no knight, little bird."

"You are a knight of the kingsguard." her voice quailed.

"I am a man of the kingsguard." the Hound snarled.

Quiet stretched between them, its icy fingers tickling her stomach.

"What are you doing here, child."

She could not say. She did not know. "I am a woman grown."

"Bleed a little and that makes you a woman?" She was suddenly quite aware of the tightness of her bodice. She was outgrowing the dresses of her childhood, the hem inches too short and her chest spilling out the front.

Silence once more took over, and it would seem the man in front of her shared her thoughts.

"I was... frightened." Sansa offered. Why had she come? What madness had possessed her? She would find no kind words here, no solace.

"Frightened was it? So you come looking for something more terrifying is it?"

"I was frightened and you... you stopped the King."

"I misspoke." he cut across. She did not make to answer. The shift in the light told her he was moving, whereto she could not say. "What is it so interesting about your shoes you won't look up?"

Self-consciously she looked to the wall. By the small burning torch she watched light dance across the white tapestries. The white reminded her so much of the snows in the North. One day so much had fallen that Jory had to call for hands to dig out the doorways. Sansa had refused to leave the castle that day, as a lady could not walk dignified knee-high through snow. She felt stiff fingers grasp her cheeks.

"You look at me." he spoke gruffly.

And she did. Her eyes traced the ugly scars from chin to scalp, red and white and horrid. The eye there looked strained, tight and misplaced in its socket. Then she looked beyond to the scruff of his chin, to the determined brow and to the other eye, deep brown and dejected. He had the eyes of a sad old dog. His fingers left her as her eyes locked with his. Quickly he looked away and turned himself from her.

Sansa rocked in her place and without meaning to, moved forward to fill the gap.

"Anything pretty to say, Little Bird?" his back hunched, as if his strength had suddenly left him. "Any songs to sing me?"

She was quiet, her breath slow and calm. "Go, girl." he barked over his shoulder. Sansa was rigid, unable to move her planted feet.

"GO!" he turned, anger tightening the scars on his face. He looked painted in that moment, some great threat from one of Old Nan's stories. He was barely inches from her, an arm extended toward the door.

She could not say why, but a part of her felt crippled. "Why must you be so mean? I've done nothing. Please, se- Sandor."

"NOW." he grabbed her by the arm tightly and walked with her to the door. With his spare hand he opened it and sent her through. "Do not come back."

Later, as she curled in her soft silken sheets between sleep she remembered the old drunk king and her Lady.

"Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it."