Stop staring, dog, he told himself sternly. You'll scare her.
He turned his gaze instead towards the boy king on the Iron Throne. Today it was the scene of one of his ridiculous sentences, and the Hound saw his cruel lips curve into a grin as he watched Ser Meryn decapitate another poor peasant who had had the nerve to disturb his king. He had to hold back from gripping his sword as the man's body was dragged away. It was a pointless and stupid death. And what was worse, Joffrey forced the women to watch – the ladies of court, the Queen Regent, and his betrothed. Surely Cersei must see that this is madness.
He held back a snort at his own stupidity. Cersei couldn't stop Joffrey if she wanted to, or she'd find her own head on a spike soon enough. The boy was out of control. He needed a sword between his own ribs, and then perhaps he'd reconsider his attitude. No lady should have to witness this. Especially not the little bird.
Unbidden, his eyes were drawn back to her, sitting stoically beside Joffrey, eyes glazed over as she pretended to watch. She knew it would mean punishments if she looked away, and so she acted the good little bird, while inside he could tell she was holding back the wolf that wanted to burst forth. He was a dog, and he could sense it within her.
She felt his gaze upon her, and turned a fraction to glance back at him. The expression of fear in her face was more than he could bear. He grunted and looked away from her beauty, unwilling to read in her face how much he disgusted her. He was used to that reaction from most women, but the little bird was trained to show courtesy at all times. And even she couldn't mask her horror at his scars. He didn't need a reminder of how hideous he was.
It's your own fault for looking at her, dog, he sneered at himself.
He couldn't help himself, though. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and though she was so innocent and naïve, he could tell by instinct that she was as hardy and brave as any Stark – as any direwolf should be. The cruel, idiot king didn't deserve her. In his opinion nobody ever would, but she ought to have better than him, the bastard king who would order his guards to beat her. If he ever tried to make him raise a hand to her, Joffrey would face the rage of his own Hound. Meryn and Boros might do his bidding willingly enough, but he would never hurt the little bird.
Mercifully, Joffrey's pathetic form of bloodlust seemed to be sated for the day, as he clicked his fingers, dismissing the last of the peasants. They scurried out of the hall as fast as they could run, and the Hound didn't blame them.
"Did you enjoy that?" Joffrey asked Sansa, the smirk never leaving his mouth.
"They deserved to die, Your Grace," Sansa replied dutifully in that high, chirping voice of hers. "They were traitors to the Crown."
Such a well-trained little bird.
"Yes. Just like your father and brother. I'll have their heads too, and I'll make you watch every moment to make sure you know what happens to traitors." Joffrey was trying to goad her into a reaction, but she held firm.
"They deserve every punishment, Your Grace," she answered, looking at the floor.
"Dog," Joffrey commanded. The Hound turned to face him. "Escort the lady back to her chambers. She is tired."
The Hound grunted noncommittally. Sansa stood, curtseying dutifully to Joffrey, and followed him out of the throne room. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw her visibly shaking. "You don't have to fear me, girl," he couldn't refrain from saying.
"It's not you I'm scared of," she replied quickly. Too quickly. He grunted and said nothing else for the remainder of the walk.
Don't try and talk to her, he told himself, she's not interested in a Hound like you. You're not fit to converse with fine ladies.
They reached her room, and the Hound bowed and turned to leave. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, aromatic and somehow just Sansa, and he felt his breeches grow tighter. Gods be damned, I'll have to sort that out later.
"Hound," the timid voice behind him made him stop. He didn't turn to look at her. "Thank you."
"What for, girl?" he asked, still not turning. He didn't want her to see his face, his ugly scars. She saw enough ugliness every day in this thrice-damned city.
"You've never beaten me. You take me back to my rooms and you don't hurt me, or taunt me, or make me cry." The tone of her voice made him turn to her; he couldn't help himself. He didn't look at her face – he didn't want to see her expression when she looked at his scars. "You may not be a knight, but you're the most honourable man in this keep."
"I've told you before, little bird," he snapped, "I have no honour. I'm a dirty, angry dog and I don't pretend to be anything else. No fancy 'Sers'. I drink, I kill and I do what I'm told. No more and no less. Men aren't gallant like in your pretty songs."
"Knights aren't," she agreed. "But I believe you are. Underneath the Hound, Sandor Clegane still exists, and he's the man who wouldn't lay a hand on me. And for that, he has my thanks."
"Believe what you like, little bird," he sneered. "I'm just a dog." A dog that wants to make her his bitch. Would she still think you're honourable if she knew you wanted to fuck her?
He felt a hand on his chin, and startled, let her lift his gaze from the floor to her face. She didn't shrink back from his scars or flinch away from the intense stare. Fuck, now he was trying to frighten her, so she would let him go, so he wouldn't be forced to look at those beautiful Tully blue eyes for a moment longer, as he felt the hardness in his trousers become unbearable.
"Don't let Joffrey break you, too," she said, and with that let him go and quickly entered her room. He sighed, a long, ragged breath and leaned against the wall. He had been a second away from taking her, king be damned, and making her his.
She wouldn't think you were so noble if you were rutting her into the ground, dog, while she screamed.
He had to let those thoughts go. She would never want him – the king's Hound, the beaten and scarred servant he was. She deserved a lordling or a knight, someone who could give her a castle and a title and love her like she needed. Someone handsome. Someone who doesn't look like you. And he sure as hell wouldn't take her unwillingly. She was his little bird. He wouldn't rape her, any more than he would have let those peasant bastards rape her the day Myrcella sailed.
Fucking seven hells, he cursed. She'll be the death of you, idiot.
The Hound hadn't thought he had a heart. Not since Gregor pushed his face into the coals, and women shrank from his gaze, and whores charged him double. Not since he became a Lannister dog, fit only to be kicked and commanded. Wine and a good fuck were all he usually needed. But since he had met Sansa Stark, he found more and more that he was experiencing feelings. Fucking emotions. The last thing any dog needed.
He pushed himself away from the wall and headed to his quarters. Despite himself, his erection was pressing hard against his breeches at the memory of Sansa Stark touching him – willingly, touching his face. Never had a woman done that before. He closed the door to his room, and sank to the bed, grabbing a pitcher of wine from his table, downing the whole jug, and unlacing his breeches with the other hand.
As he took himself in his hand, he pictured her face, and the haze of the wine started to take over his thinking. Her beauty was truly unmatched, even by Cersei. He stroked himself, closing his eyes and remembering the scent of her perfume, and the gentle touch of her hand on his chin, and her eyes, her Tully eyes which he could just fall into and never think again.
"Fuck," he whispered, as he spilled his seed into his hand. Disgusted by his own weakness, he took up another flagon of wine. If he was damned enough to have feelings, he would drown them in his cups like any other reasonable man would do. Wine was the only thing that couldn't hurt him; the only thing he'd never lose. Wine and a sword should be all he ever needed, or wanted. But they aren't, are they, dog? You want her. You'll never stop wanting her, because you love her. And she will never love you back.