This all started one day on tumblr, where I posted that Sandor wouldn't be the lovey dovey type of man. Thus the first drabble was born. Then I just kept adding to it.

I really hope you enjoy it, seeing as it's one of the only things I have ever offered up to the internet for scrutiny.

Ciao,

Raynie

Love:

Sansa sat and quietly stirred her porridge. Sandor sat across from her, cleaning his sword. She watched him purse his lips in concentration, the ruined side of his face puckering and twisting in an inhuman expression. She smiled as she remembered kissing that mouth. Sansa took a deep breath, and gathered her courage.

"I love you," Sansa murmured.

The Hound looked up. "You're going to have to speak up, little bird."

"I love you."

He merely stared at her, intensely. She held her breath, hoping that he would return the sentiment. Instead, he simply turned attention back to the sword.

"Eat you fucking porridge. It's getting cold."

Sansa smiled. From him, that was practically a marriage proposal. She bent her head and continued to eat her fucking porridge.

Baths:

Sansa wrinkled her nose as Sandor walked in. After training in the yard for hours and then drinking with the other men, he reeked of sweat. Sweat and wine. The scent followed him into her small room as he wandered in, probably to check on what she was doing. She gently set down her embroidery.

"You didn't have to stop."

"Ser, would you like to bathe?" She hinted politely. He grunted in response.

"What? I don't smell enough like one of your pretty knights?" Sandor laughed, a hoarse, barking sound. He took off his shirt and threw it at her, still chuckling. As the shirt hit her face, she was bombarded with his unpleasant odor.

After Sansa, untangled herself from his sweaty shirt, she saw that he was no longer in her room. Instead, she could hear him threatening her maids into boiling some water for a bath.

Marriage:

"But I want to!"

"I don't care. You deserve better than the Lannister dog. You'll find some one else. Maybe someone as pretty as that knight of flowers."

"I don't want someone else. They didn't protect me from Joffrey. They didn't offer to take me away-"

"An offer that you refused."

"I was young! I didn't know what I was saying! Besides, you were drunk. It would have been horribly indecent if I had run off with a drunk man!"

"Yet you want to marry him?"

"Are you drunk right now?"

"…No."

"Well then, there you go. I'll meet you at the gods wood at dusk."

She turned and walked away, head held high. Sandor sighed and rubbed his temples with the scarred digits of his left hand.

Babies:

"Sandor! Look at him!" Sansa cooed as she played with her friend Jeyne's baby.

Sandor looked. The baby was small, wrinkly, and most of all, red. It's face split into a toothless grin at the sight of him. He felt like it was laughing at him.

"I hate babies," he grumbled. The baby shrieked with laugher.

"He likes you! Do you want to hold him?" Sansa held the baby towards him. Sandor shook his head.

"No." Babies stunk. All they did was shit themselves and vomit. The baby looked at him and giggled. He almost smiled, but quickly reminded himself that babies were stupid. Yet, those big brown eyes drew him in. Before he knew it, his arms reached out and plucked the child from Sansa's arms.

"I knew you wanted to!" Sansa crowed, with delight. She beamed at the sight of him sitting there, cradling the damn baby in his arms. He scowled at her.

"Your arms looked tired," he lied. Sansa smiled and silently shook her head.

"I figured that you needed a break from holding the fucking thing!" He insisted.

"Alright, alright." Sansa laughed, her hands held up in surrender.

Sandor knew she didn't believe him, but decided against pursuing an argument. He held the small body closer. It would be pointless arguing over something as stupid as babies.

And the Hound hated babies, after all.

Flowers:

"What's this?" Sansa stared at the flower. Sandor wasn't known for giving gifts. It might very well have been a trap.

"It's a fucking flower. Don't women love flowers? Or are you just being stupid?" He shook the flower almost violently. Sansa reached out and plucked it from his hand in an attempt to save it. He looked almost pleased with himself as he watched her tuck the flower into her hair.

"Thank you, ser. It's beautiful." She smiled, graciously. She touched the flower with the tip of her fingers. She could see him staring at her, lips parted like he was about to say something. Instead, he shook his head.

"I have to piss," He announced, with usual tact, and spurred his horse into a gallop. Sansa watched his retreating form and wondered what it was that he was going to tell her.

Flowers (Take 2):

Sandor watched Sansa twirl around foolishly, flinging leaves everywhere. Her hair formed a copper halo around her face, he noticed and almost smiled. Almost.

"Girl, what are you doing?" He laughed. She looked so fucking stupid, dancing around like that with no music. She giggled and walked over to him. In her hands was a small bouquet.

"These are for you," she whispered, handing him the flowers. The men at the camp were watching him, he saw, watching and waiting for his reaction. If he took the flowers, he looked weak, but if he rejected them, he would hurt the little bird.

"Some one has a new pet dog," some sell sword whispered. It made up Sandor's mind for him. He slapped the flowers out of her hand.

"Why did you do that?!" Sansa shrieked in anger. She glared at him, putting him on the spot yet again.

"I have allergies," he lied. The sell swords saw that there wouldn't be a show and all left. Sansa gave him one last scowl and left, presumably to join the ladies that had accompanied her.

Sandor saw that there was no one watching. He hunted down every last one of the flowers in that bouquet and stuffed them in his pockets.

Menstruating:

He could almost smell the blood that the little bird had been so desperate to hide. It sat there, soiling pristine sheets, and soaking into the mattress underneath. Sansa's watery gaze was fixed on the stain. Sandor knew what he had to do as a loyal hound, and strode out of the room. His long legs carried him down the hall and into the Queen's room.

"Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?" The queen sneered. He could feel her looking him up and down, taking in his shabby clothes and finally resting on his burns. He swallowed his anger. As he opened his mouth to tell the queen, he realized he had no idea how. He didn't have daughter, or a wife, and was inexperienced with the ways of women. He had no words to describe the bloody mess.

"Uh, well- um. See-," Sandor sputtered.

He flapped his arms, lamely, in an attempt to gesture to the queen what he had seen in Sansa's bedchamber. She was looking at him, amused. No one had ever seen the Hound at a loss for words. He was gulping air, getting frustrated as the queen hadn't yet grasped the meaning of his charade.

"As much as I am amused by this mummer's farce, I have better things to do than watch an old dog at his tricks." The queen's voice rang out. Sandor racked his brains for the proper words, as he flapped his arms harder, to relay to the queen his message.

"It's Sansa," he rasped "She's- she's doing woman things." Sandor almost smiled. There was no way that the queen hadn't understood that. There were only so many things women did. But yet, there she was, staring at him blankly.

"I should hope so. Sansa will one day be a woman. Is this what you have come to waste my time with?"

Sandor shook his head. He was getting flustered. What was it that it was called?

"Blood! There was blood!" He shrieked (in a most masculine way, of course.) His arms were getting tired, so he stopped his wild gesturing. Finally, the queen's eyes registered understanding.

"Her Moon's blood?" Cersei whispered. Moon's blood. Of course it had to be the most simple name ever. If the queen had not been watching him so intently, Sandor would have punched the wall. Or a maid, had one been near.

"Yes."

The queen looked extremely pleased. "You have done your duty well, dog. Now get out."

As he exited her room, he wondered why he didn't feel more pleased. Actually, he felt kind of like shit, but he knew what would remedy that. Grabbing the first maid he found, he screamed in her face, sending the poor maid running off in tears in search of his precious wine.

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