It was a cool, crisp evening as Sandor Clegane made his way down to The King's Saloon. He could hear jazz music seeping through open windows of the tall apartment buildings that outlined the streets of this side of town. The occasional scream and sound of a bottle smashing were also often heard at this time of night, but it didn't bother Sandor; he had lived his whole life in this area and besides, he was the toughest guy in town. Exposed to violence and anger at a young age, he had grown up with all the love and kindness in his heart crushed, due to his brother, Gregor who had tormented him. It was because of the hatred for his brother that he decided to become a hit man for the Lannister family and aim to become the strongest man in all of the land so that when the day came that he stood face to face with his brother again, he would emerge the victor, and seek revenge for the huge scar Gregor had left him on his cheek.

Sandor reached into the inner pocket of his tattered suit and drew out a cigarette which he lit and took a drag. For miles around, the Lannister family were infamous for their influence and power which had attracted Sandor to them. He had been working for them for years now, making him an old hand at his job. He enjoyed what he did; violence seemed to be his calling in life, and it suited him, however the head of the family had recently changed to a younger member, who Sandor hadn't taking a liking to. He was arrogant and cocky and didn't know his limits, which was a dangerous combination for such a young boy.

Tonight he was heading for the Lannister's most famous club in town, The King's Saloon. He had been called in for another job by his boss, and besides he needed a strong drink.

The exterior of the club was completely black with its name written in glowing red letters that stood above the door, a crown rested on the title. Groups of people stood around chatting and drinking outside who moved aside when Sandor walked passed them.

Sandor glanced at the bouncer; he was a broad man dressed in a grey suit, a cowboy hat on his head and boots on his feet, around his neck he wore a large golden chain. He grinned at Sandor.

'Clegane', he said.

Sandor nodded, 'Bronn', making his way towards the door.

The bouncer frowned, 'Shouldn't you be using the back entrance?'

'I need a drink', Sandor growled, but by that time Bronn had lost interest in him, turning his attention instead to a group of passing girls. Sandor rolled his eyes and entered the club.

He passed through a smoky haze, the club was dark and packed full of people, mainly men. On the stage was a line of girls in skimpy outfits, dancing to a heavy bass beat. Sandor made his way to the bar, but was stopped by a tall, muscular man. The man brushed his sleek, blond hair back and took a drag from his cigarette.

'You're wanted backstage, dog', the man said.

'I'm getting a drink first', Sandor replied in a tone which suggested it was not open to debate.

'My sister's orders', he replied, a grin spreading across his face at the mention of Cersei Lannister. Sandor grunted, knowing it was best not to ignore the old hag. He made his way through the crowds of people and went out a door, leading backstage.

Chaos had taken hold, as it usually did at peak time, but thanks to Sandor's huge height he found Cersei easily enough. Sat in a black, leather armchair with a bottle of vodka in her hand, she still held an air of royalty; earning her the nickname, 'The Queen'. Her long blonde hair tumbled down to her waist, which she tossed back as she saw Sandor.

She smiled slyly, 'Clegane'.

Sandor nodded at her, 'Jaime said you wanted to see me'.

She took a swig from her bottle, 'Yeah, the boss wants to see you after the show, something about a job- HEY!', Cersei snapped at a passing dancer, 'Stop sniffling and get changed, you're on in five. He barely touched you so get back out there.'

Sandor looked at the girl and sighed, The Queen was ruthless with her 'girls'; being the lead dancer, she took it upon herself to assert her position amongst the group, though she was getting older and there were rumours of her retirement looming, but she remained as fierce and proud as a lion. He looked around the room as the familiar scene unfolded. He saw the costume designer, Renly, hastily adjusting some of the girls' complicated looking hair pieces. He looked up suddenly as the slender, soft haired tech guy walked past and grinned at Renly, who exchanged the smile.

'Fools', he heard Cersei mutter, obviously seeing what Sandor did, though she obviously cared a great deal more than he did, holding the club's reputation close to her cold, icy heart.

Back at the bar, Sandor ordered a double whiskey from a tall man with dark hair and a crooked nose. His brother stood next to him, pouring shots for a group of men. He took his drink to a secluded table in the corner of the room, watching the dancers on stage with a look of mild interest. Just as he was beginning to relax, someone pulled up a stool next to him. Sandor glanced over and groaned as he sat face to face with Tyrion Lannister.

'Try to hide your excitement at seeing me again', Tyrion said, his disproportioned face smiling.

'What do you want', Sandor grumbled, hunching over his drink.

'Can I not simply wish to share a drink with an old friend?' Tyrion asked.

Sandor eyed him suspiciously, to which the dwarf laughed.

Tyrion was the brother of Cersei and high up in the gang's standing. A smart man who sorted out the accounting and any other business that needed a more measured response than the boss was capable of. Sandor often found him irritating though; Tyrion knew how to outsmart others with his wit and cunning and Sandor often found himself mentally exhausted.

'I hear the boss has enraged the Stark family. That can't be good for business', Tyrion muttered.

'He's a greedy little shit', Sandor replied, laughing darkly.

'That he is. Although I'm sure even a pile of shit has more cunning than our boss, at least it would know not to steal from a family like the Starks. This is not likely to end well.'

Sandor frowned, 'What did he steal?'

Tyrion grinned at him from under his mismatched eyes, 'Why, she's on next'.

Sandor's frown deepened, 'He stole a dancer?'

'Yes well, she is no plain dancer. I hear she has a certain innocence, a certain purity that these whores lack. And that's what makes her special. As soon as the boss laid eyes on her in The Winterdrop bar, he wanted her,' Tyrion explained, 'And you know what he's like with shiny new toys...'

Suddenly Tyrion's attention was caught by a slender, black haired dancer who smiled slyly at Tyrion before walking past and out one of the back doors. Tyrion winked at Sandor and hopped of his stool, following the dancer out.

Sandor swirled his drink and downed the rest, watching the stage, waiting for the girl to appear. Despite his lack of interest in the dancers, and the family's business generally, he had to admit that this girl had piqued his curiosity. Generally the Stark clan were a fairly passive yet serious bunch, and for that they were well loved throughout the city, which was where their strength lay. Sandor was curious to see the girl who was to begin a war. Sandor had grown up without love or affection, believing them to simply weaken him so he had avoided them at all cost. A man of little words. They called him 'The Hound' for his keen sense of smell when it came to the stink of his targets. His two best friends were his gun and his drink. As far as he was concerned that was all he needed. That was what Sandor Clegane had believed right up until that stage lit up.

The crowded room hushed immediately as a short man with grey eyes stepped onto the stage, his arms raised. He smiled amiably around the room. The man's name was Petyr Baelish, a man of a humble background who had shown talent in manipulation and trickery, which the Lannisters found appealing. He was also in charge of all the dancers and sniffing out new talent.

'Good evening, my friends', Baelish said, 'I trust you are all having a splendid evening?'

The crowd roared with confirmation, to which Petyr grinned.

'Well as a gift to you, my dear friends, we have a special treat for you all tonight. And this treat comes in the form of a very lovely lady,' Petyr began, as the crowd began talking eagerly to one another, 'A girl with skin as pale as snow, eyes as blue as the ocean and the body of a goddess.' He extended one arm to left wing of the stage and roared, 'Tonight, I give you; Little Bird!'

The crowd were stomping their feet and cheering, but Sandor heard none of it. The room seemed to disappear as she walked on stage. She wore a long white dress with laced sleeves; her hair was a rich auburn which fell to the small of her back. She seemed to float across the stage; she turned and waved at the crowd. Sandor's breath caught as he attempted to take all of her in; her beauty was heavenly, her posture elegant, her smile radiant. A piano melody floated up from the orchestra pit and the girl began to sing. Her voice was the sound of summer and honey yet with a hint of sadness. She was effortless with the crowd, drawing reactions from them with her every action, her every note, but when Sandor looked closely he could have sworn she was trembling.

Unbidden visions of lust and love flooded Sandor's mind with the sight of her, his resistance mattered not. He saw her face even when he closed his eyes. He pressed his head into his hands as though attempting to physically get rid of the images, but it was no use. Sandor was captivated by her. He had to get out of here.

Leaving the smoky club behind and feeling the fresh air was a huge relief. Sandor stood round the back of the building and lit a cigarette. He took a deep breath, that haunting voice still in his mind. How long he stayed out there he could not say, but soon the streets were silent which was a rare thing and he was out of cigarettes, which was rarer still. He cursed and threw the empty packet away. Sandor sat down on the dusty ground and leaned back, closing his eyes. He felt much calmer now, as though nothing had changed.

Suddenly the back door swung upon and slammed shut. Sandor looked up and saw the girl stood there, shaking and crying. He stood up, unsure of what to do. When she saw him she held her arms up around her, as though protectively.

'I'm not going to hurt you', Sandor promised.

The girl stared back, her big blue eyes watering. She looked away and pushed a lock of her hair past her ear, revealing a large purple bruise on her cheek; still fresh. Sandor frowned and walked up to her, offering a handkerchief from his pocket. The girl smiled meekly and took it; dabbing at her tears and bruise.

'What's your name?' He asked, as she began to calm down, beckoning for her to sit down with him.

'Sansa', she replied, doing so.

Sandor stared at the bruise, knowing full well who was responsible.

Sansa noticed his gaze and laughed sadly, 'Guess there's no point saying I fell over?' The girl took a moment to compose herself before replying, 'It seems my brother has displeased your boss and he took it out on me.'

'Your brother's a Stark?', Sandor asked, confused.

Sansa nodded, 'I'm not really a dancer or a singer... Your boss seemed like such a nice guy, I thought if I went with him I would be happy but... I guess... that's not how the world works'.

They sat in silence for a while, as though silently agreeing on the matter.

'Is there nowhere you can go?' Sandor asked, finally.

She shook her head, 'anywhere I go, he'd find me.'

Sandor knew as much, but he was feeling, for the first time, nervous. His heart was beating faster than usual and he felt flustered. Just looking at Sansa made his mind feel numb. He felt protective over her for some reason, something he'd never felt before.

Sandor blurted out the words before he'd had time to process them, 'I could keep you safe, come with me.'

Sansa stared at him, confused joy on her face, 'What, just leave?'

'Everyone here fears me, they'd never hurt you again.'

The girl began to cry all over again, and scrunched up the handkerchief.

What am I doing? Sandor thought, what the hell was I thinking?

'Meet me in the car park at dawn', he said, putting his hand on hers.

Sansa smiled, processing what he'd said and nodded eagerly.

The next day Sandor stood in the car park, leaning against his red Chevrolet. He tapped his foot nervously on the concrete. What the hell am I doing? He thought, I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going to go. What am I supposed to do with her?

He turned and looked towards the club.

'Damn it I need a drink', he muttered under his breath. But his thoughts were cut short when he saw Sansa running out of the building. She grinned and waved at him. She was wearing denim shorts and a plain white t-shirt, her hair wild and flying behind her. In a flurry of excitement and relief she ran into him and hugged him tightly, but broke off suddenly, flushing.

Sandor cleared his throat, 'Got everything?'

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the ground. He chuckled, there was something very tempting about her shyness; it seemed to make her all the more sweeter. He moved to open the door for her but stopped as he saw a group of men making their way towards the two of them.

The shortest of the group was in front and threw up a gun, firing shots into the air. Sansa froze but Sandor merely frowned, waiting for them to advance. The leader appeared to be no more than a boy, his short, sandy hair ruffled in the wind. This boy was the boss of the clan, Joffrey Lannister.

He had an evil grin on his face, 'Where do you think you're going? Don't you remember Sansa, you belong to me.'

Sandor glanced at Sansa who seemed to have stopped breathing, so terrified was she of him.

'She's not yours anymore.' Sandor yelled in his deep, growly voice. He gripped her shoulder, 'The child is with me now.'

Joffrey threw his head back and roared with laughter, 'You think you can just leave me, dog? You're mine, you're my dog. You have nowhere to go!'

'Watch me', Sandor growled, grabbing his gun before the others had a chance to. Joffrey squealed and fell backwards and attempted to shoot Sandor but missed by miles.

'Get in the car', Sandor said to Sansa who had not yet moved. She did not respond, so Sandor picked her up and put her into the passenger seat. The car roared to life and as it did, the gang of men moved and blocked the entrance to the car park. But Sandor grinned and reversed back, sending the fence crashing down as they raced across the desert.

As they began to leave the scene behind them, Sansa visibly relaxed. She sunk down into the seat and simply went to sleep. Sandor smiled down at her, feeling again very anxious to keep her safe. He looked out over the golden sea of sand and the violet sky.

This was just the beginning.