Sandor's eyes had closed and stayed that way for a second too long. His eyebrows had sunk and his brow and furrowed. His lips had curled downward. He had exhaled too heavily. All in a second, she had seen through him and understood.

Sansa smiled sweetly.

"Don't worry," she said.


When they had married Sansa to Tyrion the Hound had stood at the back of the hall. He had been the only one to join the King in laughing when Sansa refused to bend to allow Tyrion to drape her in the Lannister cloak. How proud he had felt in that moment! Even from a distance he could read the feigned innocence on her face and could see the excitement light in her eyes. He watched defiance rise through her body, from her belly up and up until it was under her chin, raising it aloft so that she looked down not only on the Imp but on ever man in the room. No one in the Great Hall was worthy of her. Her determined pride aroused him and he locked the image in his memory.

He stared at her with a smile on his lips. She couldn't swing a sword and kill a man, but her small victories were hard won. He loved her for it.

The Hound's raucous growls had rung about Sansa's ears throughout the remainder of the ceremony.

No laughter came when the King called for the bedding. The drunken little lust-filled Imp saved her that injustice. The Hound had tried his upmost to pass out before they led her to her marriage bed, but even seven wineskins couldn't dull his mind and make it forget what was going to happen. His mouth was filled with bile at the thought of the Imp touching her. His stomach tightened every time a man looked at her. She was so beautiful in her wedding gown. He wanted her.

He followed the King to the balcony atop the dais. Sansa was there. The King told her he would rape her that night. He considered snapping Joffery's neck. He could probably do it without a sound. He wondered if Sansa would scream. He looked over to her. Her lips were quivering and her eyes were wet, though not with fear. She was angry.

"Would you like that? No? No matter, I'll have the Hound hold you down," The King said, a grim smile on his face. The King slapped Sansa on the back, as if she was an old drinking buddy making her splutter and step forward in her repulsion before leaping down the steps to taunt his uncle.

Sandor had already glided forward and grabbed her hands in his.

"He won't hurt you because I will not let him," he rasped.

"But you'll let the Imp take me?"

Her eyes moved up from his jerkin to meet his in a challenge.

"Yes"

"Why?"

"People fuck. It has never meant a thing but pleasure and pain and results in nothing more than bawling brats that'll soon do the same. It means nothing,"

"Not to you, but for me…"

"It shouldn't mean anything to you, either"

"I'm only valued for my maidenhood and the alliance it'll buy. What have I bought? Life imprisonment and nightime visits by the King. If my baby isn't hideous and deformed like Tyrion, it'll be a monster like the King. Take me, please."

"Where could we go this night? I can't take you from the Keep until…"

"No, take me."

She stepped close to him. Shadows danced on the drapes behind them, hiding them from the revellers below. Sandor looked away, staring into the wall to his right. He bit his lip and shook his head.

"You're not a whore and so don't act like one"

"I'm the King's whore, now."

He growled, pulling her toward him and treading backward so his back met the wall and she fell against his chest. The corner was enveloped in shadow so that they could only see one another, as though they were in their own chamber.

Her breath was ragged. Her breasts heaved up and down against him. Her mouth was apart, her lips full and red.

He felt like more.

He stroked her hair.


The next morning he awoke on the floor of his chambers. He'd seemingly passed out there instead of atop the marginally more comfortable bed three feet away. His thoughts turned to Sansa, no longer a maid. He hoped it was not too difficult for her.

He dragged himself up and dressed. He made his way to the King's chambers to begin his duties and was satisfied to see that the King remained tossed in a pile on the rug on the floor, as he had left him. A sneer crossed his face as he looked down at the brat.

He stepped outside and came across Sansa's handmaid.

"Why are you in such a rush, woman? Hoping to end up a fucking cripple falling down those steps?"

"Lady Lannister has called for a bath. She's not in a good way, my Lord,"

"I see,"

He followed the handmaid to Sansa's chambers under the guise of important word for Lord Tyrion from the King.

He entered the chamber at permission of Lady Lannister. She was dressed in green. Her hair was tangled. She looked different.

He wanted to shake her. She smiled sweetly.

That night he made his way to Lord Baelish's brothel. He paid for a whore. Anything but red hair, but pale skin, but blue eyes. He wanted to forget Sansa Stark.