Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, all belong to George R.R. Marting and his series.
Sandor
Sandor Clegane didn't sleep a wink. How could he? It wasn't just like you could snap your fingers in New Orleans and find an apartment. Uptown wasn't filled with apartment complexes, and a Stark wouldn't live in one anyways. So since 3 a.m. this morning, which was the time he got home after escorting a drunken/high Joffrey Baratheon out of Rick's, Sandor Clegane had been researching apartments in Uptown for Sansa Stark with little luck. By 8 a.m. Sandor was desperate and waiting outside a real-estate agency on Magazine St.
A short little bald man pulled up in a Jaguar and proceeded to unlock the back door when Sandor grabbed him.
"Are you Varys?" Sandor spat out.
"Why good morning to you, Mr. Clegane," the little dough figure replied almost giddily.
Sandor was too shocked for words. How in the Hell does this little fat fuck know who I am?
"Not to fear, Sandor, I figure that you're helping the newest addition to the Baratheon-Lannister empire look for a place. I've already got a folder for you. Stay here, and I will fetch it for you."
As the man, who he now knew must be Varys because of his reputation of having a web in every window, walked inside Sandor stood shocked into silence. After all, there weren't that many have burned giants running around the city, but to know exactly what he was here for, now that took talent that Sandor didn't even want to fathom. He would have to keep an eye on Varys.
Varys returned with no less than 15 addresses for Sansa, all of which were in great locations, though astronomically pricey. But what's money to a Stark? Varys had also told him that he was holding the properties for 3 days to let Sansa decide and would be in touch as he strode back into the office. Sandor thought to tell him that he didn't give him his contact information, but thought better of it when he remembered who he was dealing with. He could probably tell me the size of my own dick, Sandor inwardly reflected as he got in his car and headed to pick up Sansa.
Sansa
Sansa was beyond thrilled that the clock in the bathroom of the Monteleone had an iPod dock as she jumped in the shower to get ready for the day. In an hour she would be looking for a new home of her very own to compliment her new life with Joffrey—even the Hound couldn't ruin today for her!
And that is exactly what Sansa was repeating to herself as she put on her white skinny jeans, gold Tory Burch flats, and her favorite, purple Michael Star tee. However, by the time she had knocked on Jory's adjoining door to tell him "bye," and made it into the lobby, she wasn't sure that even her thoughts of Joffrey—her Snow Prince the young concierge had called him—could safeguard her from the hound.
The Monteleone's lobby was ornate and beautiful, just like the city itself. Sansa had just about convinced herself to step into the Carousel Bar for a mimosa when a large hand landed on her shoulder, stirring her from her thoughts.
"Ready?" was all that Sandor Clegane managed to get out before taking her arm and pulling her toward the door.
As they stepped onto the street Sansa's olfactory senses were assaulted by a mysterious smell and the sight of a jet black Ford Bronco, which Sandor ushered her to. Sansa for a minute thought that she was going to have to jump to get in the SUV, which she noticed had a classic car tag, but realized that her legs were just long enough to get her in the vehicle. Finally, after having spent all of junior high being teased about her being a head on legs, they were paying off.
When Sansa settled herself into the car, something unexpected happen, right before putting the car in drive, Sandor reached across her. At first she was so shocked that she must have looked like a deer in head lights, but when she realized he was going for the seatbelt at her shoulder, she let herself relax. Sansa, who had always been keen on smell, noticed that Sandor Clegane had the most masculine scent she had ever come in contact with, it was instantly calming and made her feel both safe and….aroused? No, that can't be right, she thought, he is ugly. No, its just that he is so masculine, she yelled in her head before looking out the window like she knew where she was going.
Sandor
Jesus Christ, I was just grabbing her seatbelt. I wasn't going to slit her pretty, little throat, Sandor said to himself as he gripped the steering wheel. They had just pulled out of the French Quarter into the Central Business District and would in a few minutes be at their first of many apartments, but Sandor Clegane was going to be damned if he was going to spend the whole day in silence when he was finally alone with Sansa Stark. He had heard his little bird, as he thought of her, chirp prettily enough for Joffrey and everyone else, she could chirp for him too.
"What is it girl? Heard they called me the Hound? Afraid I'll bite?" Sandor barked at her from across the console, snapping Sansa out of her silent revelry.
"Uh..no, I am just looking at how quickly the city changes from street to street," Sansa all but stuttered. "I got in at dusk yesterday and wasn't able to really get a look."
This was a sound enough reason, Sandor murmured to himself. Maybe he should go easy on her. Hell he grew up here and new just about everything one could know about New Orleans. As his lips began to open to tell her more about the part of the city they were in, Sandor realized what he was about to do. Suddenly, he was angry again, his normal state, thinking I am not her fucking tour guide, if she wants to know something she can ask like anyone else.
"It really is quite a beautiful city," Sansa began as they crossed under 90 into the Garden District on St. Charles.
Sandor's first reaction was to grunt, but being since she was being nice, and it was a rarity that people talked to him, much less were nice to him, Sandor felt he could be decent back.
"It is, Little Bird," he spat out before he could think. At the mentioning of his pet name for Sansa he chanced a glance at her to see her staring back at him. This being even more unsettling than his revelation, he stammered on, "Stranger and I know these parts well." SHIT SHIT SHIT, am I not thinking today?
"Stranger?" Sansa replied.
"Uhh..yeah, my Bronco. I call it Stranger," Sandor said gruffly, daring her to make a snide comment, waiting for it so he could lash out, but it never came.
"Huh," Sansa Stark let out of her mouth, "I thought I was the only one who had one of those."
"One of what?" Sandor asked his interest piqued.
"A name for my car, at home I have a white Lincoln MKX that I call Lady," Sansa said to Sandor, flashing him one of those smiles she was so wanted for, which made him do something that he rarely ever did…smile back.
Sandor Clegane had very little reason to or very experience in smiling, but how many people did with half of a face? Smirking sure, he could do that just fine. And frowning, yeah, no problem there. But smiling? Sansa fucking Stark had made him smile, he thought which was quickly followed by another thought: this is NOT good.
Sansa
It was a little past 1 p.m., she had checked ten apartments off her list, two of which Sandor wouldn't even go in because he didn't like the look of them, and Sansa Stark was tired, hungry, and a little…frazzled. Sure, she had really liked one or two of the apartments, but that was before Sandor pointed out the obvious, he claimed, faults with each of them.
There's three different doors to enter this apartment, do you want to get raped?...No alarm system, now way in fucking hell are you living here… There's only one fire alarm in this whole damned building…The shit hole I live in is safer than this, and I am a fucking bodyguard.
Sansa Stark had just about had it as they sat down to eat. They had settled at a place called the Camellia Grille on Carrollton Ave, which Sandor had said was decent. After having spent the whole morning with him, Sansa figured decent to Sandor Cleganetranslated into delicious for a normal person. And Sansa was not disappointed when her food arrived.
"To your liking, Little Bird?" Sandor asked between bites of his burger.
"It's quite delicious, I like it very much. Thank you for bringing me here and helping me today," Sansa replied.
"Just doing what I am told to do, it's what they pay me for," Sandor said, then added with a little hint of curiosity and malice, "besides what don't you like, Little Bird?"
At the last part of his statement, Sansa bristled. She put down her last fry that she was about to devour, instead gripped the napkin in her lap tightly. How dare he? How dare he go from hot to cold so fast…don't they make medicine for that? Sansa had been facing this type of prejudice her whole life. Yes, she was attractive. Yes, she was from a privileged family. And yes, she had an agreeable personality. But she WAS NOT without opinions. She had plenty of them. And furthermore, she had a 4.0 from one of the hardest all-girls schools in the country and an academic scholarship to Tulane, an excellent academic institution. Truth be told, her parents weren't paying a dime for her school, and she was about a millisecond away from telling Sandor that. But no, that would only provoke him further. So Sansa, took a sip of her water and looked into the fierce grey eyes of Sandor Clegane, the most feared man in New Orleans, Jory had told her.
"Liars, Cheats, and mosquitoes," she said coolly, locking eyes with Sandor.
"Excuse me?" He all but spat into his Abita AndyGator, shocked by her reply.
"You," Sansa said as she smiled sweetly at him, "implied that I liked everything, and I am telling you what I don't like. I don't like liars and cheats, because the Tully house words include honor, and liars and cheats are not honorable. And I don't like mosquitoes, because their bites itch, and they take without giving."
Sansa noticed during her little speech that Sandor had a softened, amusement look in his eyes at the first two points, which faded when shot explained her third.
"Well then," Sandor said matching her gaze, "I hope you can keep your wits about you in regards to the first two, but know this, Little Bird, everyone takes in New Orleans, and people rarely give."
And with that, Sansa watched as Sandor paid the check and motioned for her to leave.
Sandor
She has no idea. She really has no fucking idea. How the Hell could Eddard Stark do this to his daughter? She doesn't want to be around liars and cheats? That's synonymous with Lannisters and Baratheons. Fuck Eddard Stark, Sandor kept saying to himself, as they went into the remaining five apartments. While these apartments were significantly better than the mornings, his mood was significantly worse. So much so that he had barely said a word since the restaurant.
The fifteenth and final apartment was an old 3 story Victorian on the edge of Audubon Park. It was light blue on the outside and had once been a large home but had since been converted into two upscale townhouses. This particular side had two bedrooms, two baths, a large dining area, a den, living room, utility room downstairs, and a fully furnished Viking kitchen. As Sandor walked around, giving the place a thorough inspection, he decided that this was good enough for Sansa Stark, if anything ever could be. She had showed him a different side to her at lunch, not only was she brutally beautiful, but she was also brutally honest when times called for it, which he respected. Much like myself. But Sandor knew that honesty with Joff would only get her a black eye if not worse. Sandor had given plenty of those on Joff's behalf, but he knew he would never touch Sansa Stark.
In fact, as he watched Sansa walk around in what he guessed would be her new home from the smile on her face, Sandor was struck with a queer emotion, he not only was going to protect Sansa Stark because of her affiliation with Joff, but he wanted to protect Sansa Stark, even from Joffrey. And this is the emotion that Sandor struggled with all the way back to the French Quarter and well after he dropped Sansa off to pick up his usual duties of guarding Joffrey.
Sansa would be dining that night with Cersei and Marcella at the Baratheon home, so he wouldn't be seeing her until tomorrow evening when she would be going with Joffrey to some charity gala. But she was not leaving his mind anytime soon, Sandor knew. And as he crawled in his bed at 1 a.m., an early night by Joff's standards, he knew something else. He had three months with Sansa Stark before it was too late, before she couldn't start her freshman year somewhere else, away from Joff. And Sandor Clegane new that was what he wanted.
Sandor Clegane, who had never been anyone's savior, was going to save Sansa Stark.
