I wrote this in the midst of a 10 hour marathon of AWOLnation's "Sail"
I love San/San fics, and wanted to write one.
This is just a short two-shot (For now) I do not plan to continue this particular fic past the two chapters. But you just never know what will happen when the flow hits you! (:
Above all, I Hope you all enjoy!

Sansa sat at the round table near her open window. A book with a mass of blank pages that Old Nan had given her long ago opened in front of her, her quill tip scratching the pages as she wrote. When Old Nan had given her the book Sansa had asked her "What use is a book you cannot read? What a waste of pages to be bound with no words upon them." Old Nan had quieted her with one simple response that had stuck with Sansa this whole time, "A book with blank pages offers you a chance to write a story of your own. A story of brave knights and fair maidens; or just a comforting place to share your thoughts with no one there to laugh or reprimand. You can look back into it's pages as you go and notice how much you have grown."

She was only eight when she received it as a nameday gift, and so the first pages are littered with a few doodles and more than a few "I Hate Arya"'s. But as she grew older, the pages gained more sustenance. More feelings shared of her duties, and her yearning for a handsome Prince to come sweep her away, marrying him, and birthing his round cheeked babes for her to dote over and love. Sansa found it easier to let her words flow through her hands if the page was penned to Old Nan, who passed not long after Bran was crippled. The book was one of the few things she brought with her to Kings Landing, as it was close to her heart, and she had hoped to fill it with all the beautiful notions she had about the Prince and their soon to be marriage.

She was now filling it with all the things she hated about the place. All the people she hated from the place. And all of how she felt cheated out of her happy life as a Queen.

Today and for many days before, she is writing of one she notices more and more often since her arrival in Kings Landing.

Nan,

Life in Kings Landing is not nearly as I had hoped. My tongue hurts from how often I have to bite down on it to keep my treasonous words from spilling over and losing my head. The King is vile, crude, and mean. He hates me for things that my father has said. Things that my brother has done. I want to stay strong, but it is so hard to continue with your head held high when so many are swinging for your brow. I stay quiet and do as I am bid. I try to smile, but when the King lives to hear your sobs, that too is hard to hold. Shae, my newer handmaiden, tells me to stay strong. That not all of the Capitol hates me; That some look up to me. But sometimes it is not a believable notion. She assures me that not all Lannisters are vile. There's no doubt the Queen hates me. She's made that very clear since that day on the Kings road when Nymiria injured the King. As if it was my fault that he got cocky with his power. And poor Lady. I think of her still. She was so sweet and loving, and they made father kill her for her sisters' crimes. I would never tell anyone, Nan, but I felt bad for Mycah, the butchers boy. He really did nothing wrong. It was the dolt king who challenged a boy with a wooden sword to a duel. I dwell on this often. Maybe if I had spoken then, I would have been left in Winterfell. And maybe if I had made enough of a ruckus, late King Robert would have changed his mind and left father there. I feel as if this is all my fault. I should have done more. But when the Lannisters want something they stop at nothing till they have it. But so little could be done by a little bird whose wings are too weary to carry her own self.

Little Bird. That's what Sandor calls me. It started as a quip from the Queens own lips. To jest that I was nothing but a little dove. Too weak to do anything but carry on. Too small to even stand up for myself. But the Kings Hound turned it into something more. A term of endearment. He still scares me. But only sometimes. Mainly when he is drunk and his temper has no leash. His face surprised me back in Winterfell. Before this whole nightmare began. But only because I had only heard stories before then. I had no knowledge of how badly marred his face was. I think he is very handsome, and I no longer see the scars. They were not his by choice, or even due to a heroic battle he fought; but due to the cruelty of his brother. I often wonder what he thinks of me. But quickly dismiss it. No man so strong and courageous and brave could love a meek naive little child like myself. He probably thinks of me as nothing more than another woman he is bade to watch. Like a little baby, I have to be watched. Still, when I see him, I smile. Hoping that maybe he does think of me. Not that I would ever have a chance to get close to him. He is the Kings Hound. If he was to reveal any feeling towards the Kings betrothed, they would have both of our heads. But still I hope to even have a conversation with him. He is so intelligent, and funny. His humour is often cruel and makes me flush red, but sometimes he is genuinely funny. With jests of the fool women around, clucking like hens. That is really the only safe topic to discuss. No mention of the fool king or his Queen mother, but of the foolish townspeople. He brings my food to me in my chambers, and on very rare occasions will sit and have a piece of bread with me while he waits for me to finish my meal, and return to his duties. Oh, Old Nan, you would have no idea how much my heart yearns of him. I yearn for him now, as I once did for the then fool Prince. But over time the Kings good intentions faded and faltered, where as Sandor's have never once. He says what he thinks, and never makes a pause to correct for ones feelings. But he never is cruel to me. He has had moments where he was overly aggressive towards me, solely based off of my ignorance, and sometimes when he has had too much wine. But he has never been cruel. Never has he forced me to watch my own fathers execution, or pointed a crossbow at me, or even raised his hand to me. He is so gallant, so much more than the fool king.
Old Nan, I think I may be in love. Unfortunately, it is not with whom I am betrothed.

Sansa sat straight up and placed a kerchief in the book to mark her page. It happened to be the same kerchief that the Hound had cleaned her face with so long ago, when she had only been in Kings Landing for a short while. She had kept it all this time.

She slid the marked book under her pillow, not noticing that the edge poked out from under the sham. Sansa fixed her shifted locks back into the braid that spun around the back of her head and pinned into place. She faked a smile of confidence in the small mirror above a vanity. She gathered the skirts of her lilac purple dress and headed for the door of her chambers. Maybe Shae fancied a walk through the gardens before supper.

-
I know it's short. I tried to keep loyal to the way Sansa thinks and acts. I hope I didn't stray too far. (: I hope you all enjoyed this, and I will be putting part 2 up soon!
-Rammy.