He didn't know why he'd come here.

The fucking Imp had set the bay on fire. He was a good dog, a loyal Hound, and he would obey his masters, but not when it came to fire. He wouldn't walk into the flames for anyone – not for Joffrey, not for Cersei and certainly not for the fucking Halfman. They could all go to hell. That burning, flaming hell they'd created down by the walls.

So he'd run. He had backed away from the burning beach and retreated into the Keep, into his cups once more. Where had he run to? The little bird's room. He hadn't a fucking clue why.

Suddenly, a noise at the door startled him, and he shrank back into the shadows, lurking like the monster he was. Sansa ran into the room breathless, barring it behind her. She must have heard of Cersei's plans for her, then – for all the scared little hens in Maegor's – and was running from her fate, just like he was.

"Hound!" she cried, shocked to find him there. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not here for long," he answered, taking another large gulp of wine. She looked terrified of him once again – he always managed to fuck it up. In his drunk mind, he hadn't realised that turning up unexpected and inebriated in her chambers would scare the shit out of her. You're a stupid, useless brute, and you should leave her alone.

"Where are you going?" she asked tremulously, drawing closer to him.

"Somewhere that's not burning," he replied, and he could see in her face that she knew. She knew why he was leaving – he could see pity in her gaze. He didn't want pity. He spoke again. "North, might be. Could be."

She didn't respond, looking frozen and torn. She didn't know what she wanted, he could tell. He wanted her to trust him. To believe that he could protect her.

"Come with me," he suddenly urged, letting her know what he wanted. He stood up, walking towards her tentatively, but she didn't move away. "I'll keep you safe. Take you home. Do you want to go home?"

She didn't immediately respond, looking up at him with wide eyes. He could see trust in her eyes, and a desire to follow him – but she was afraid. She was afraid of his drunkenness and his bloodlust. And as he looked at her, his gray eyes boring into hers, he knew she could see his thinly veiled feelings towards her.

"You won't hurt me," she whispered.

"No, little bird, I won't hurt you," he replied. He was glad she could finally understand that, and that he hadn't had to express his feelings with words.

Nothing, though, could have prepared his drunken mind for what she did next.

She leaned upwards, and before he could move, pressed her perfect lips to his, wrapping her arms around his neck. He reacted instinctually, responding to her touch, taking her by her thin waist and pulling her body into his as he instantly hardened. Before it could get too far, though, he came to his senses and broke away from her, staggering back towards the wall.

"What the fuck just happened?" he asked, though he was speaking more to himself than her. He was reeling. She had initiated it. Did she think he was somebody else?

"I kissed you," she said defiantly. He met her gaze, and she looked slightly hurt that he had backed away. To hell with that.

"A reward for a gallant protector? Like you'd give to one of your fairytale knights?" he scoffed, trying to distance her, trying to make himself believe that that was why. He couldn't let himself think about the alternative, that she wanted him, because that was utter bollocks. Nobody could ever want a monster like him, let alone his little bird. "I've told you before, girl, I'm no knight and I don't want to be treated like one. Keep your damned kisses. You tempt a dog and he'll bite."

"Perhaps I want you to bite," she replied sternly, raising her eyes to lock with his. He could see the spirit of the wolf in her burning glare, fiery enough to consume him.

"You don't know what you're saying, little bird." The Hound's breeches were uncomfortably tight once more, and he knew they needed to get out of here and didn't have time to waste words on this nonsense. "Dogs don't know romance. They don't know love. All you'd get from me is a rough fuck. You don't want that."

"You're no dog," Sansa proclaimed, determined to win this battle. "I love you, Sandor Clegane, and I know you love me too. I know you want me."

You've got no fucking idea how much I want you, little bird, he thought. But he forced himself to scoff at her words. He wouldn't take the bait, because he knew she was emotional, and what she thought she felt wasn't true. It couldn't be true, nobody could ever love a brute like him. She was grateful for his protection, and that was all. "You don't know what love is. You're mistaking it for gratitude. And I don't want your fucking gratitude. I'm leaving. Are you coming with me?"

She didn't answer, looking hurt – she turned to pack up her things. Of course she was coming with him, he was her fucking protector, without him she'd be subject to Joffrey and his Kingsguard. You're the worst of the lot, he told himself, the way you look at her. She's not safe with you.

Soon enough, she was ready. They hurried down and out of the Red Keep, the Hound gripping her arm and not allowing any time to speak. He untied and mounted Stranger, pulling her up beside him and the two of them rode into the night, away from the burning chaos of King's Landing.