-2-

If lightning had struck Sandor Clegane, the impact could not have been bigger. He sits motionless, speechless and seemingly isn't breathing either. Sansa takes a sip from her wine. It tastes stale and sour and she puts the mug away. After a few very long seconds the Hound downs his in one go, red liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth down his chin, then reaches across the table for her rejected one and does away with that as well. With a loud thump he slams the cup on the wooden table top.

„Lady, you either had too much to drink, or I not enough."

„Don't look at me as if I am crazy", she can't keep the heat out of her voice any longer and leans foward. „And don't pretend the thought never crossed your mind. I saw how you looked at me at King's Landing!" „You were a little girl!" he snaps, balling his hands into fists, „I did nothing but protect you!"

„I am no little girl anymore and I don't need to be protected. Not from you."

Their faces are so close now she feels his breath on her cheek. „You will not hurt me."

With these words she stands. She can see that they have effected him. He seems deflated, the fight has left him.

„I am not asking you or ordering or trying to coerce you into my bed. All I am saying is, if you want me, I am there. I trust you will be able to find the way to my chambers."

And with one last look, daring him to deny her, she turns and walks away.

Sandor Clegane's head is still spinning from what he has just heard. She wants him? SHE wants HIM? What in fuck's name was going on? Damn all Stark bitches, the whole crazy lot of them.

He grabs the beaker for more wine but does not pour. Yes, he'd had a soft spot for her at Geoffrey's court. She was the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on but she had only been a child. Until the morning he had seen the bloody sheets and had known that it would not be long now before she'd become a plaything for the little bastard King in yet another sick way.

He'd been determined to protect her, even from the King himself but he could not do so openly. It was too dangerous for both of them, so he was biding his time. Then came the Battle of Blackwater and he had snapped. Too much fire, too much insanity. He had told them to fuck off. The guard, the kingdom and the king could all go and fuck themselves. Sandor Clegane had had enough. But he'd gone back into the palace one more time to offer the little bird a way out. And even after all she had seen, she was still too afraid or did not trust him enough to go with him. She'd decided to put her trust in Stannis Baratheon. The rest was history.

He finally fills his cup again. The wine is starting to do it's job. A few more and he will be too drunk to think. Or do anything stupid, like going to her.

The nerve of that girl! As if he depended on her for pleasure, as if there were no other women!

But the fact was that there had not been any women since... he found it hard to recall. Not since King's Landing, that was for sure.

When he had lain there on the hillside, bleeding, broken and beaten, he had thought of her indeed. He had wondered what had become of her, not knowing that he and Arya had missed her by mere days.

Fate has brought them back together, he still no more than a dog without a home, she Lady of the mightiest stronghold in the North, no longer a helpless child but a fearless, beautiful young woman, and she has offered herself to him. „Why, for fuck's sake?" he asks himself for the umptheenth time.

But this time another voice chimes in, asking: „Why the fuck do you care? Why not take what is offered freely and have that one night. Something to carry with you to hell. Something no one can take away from you!" The voice sounds familiar but he does not want to listen. He seeks to drown it in more wine but finds the beaker empty. With an angry roar he throws it against the nearest stone pillar where it smashes into pieces. A few heads turn but decide to mind their own business when they recognise the clearly upset warrior.

The tall man stands, leaning heavily on the table, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of the crimson mist that has begun to cloud his mind but it only lifts to reveal a vision of Beric Dondarrion, telling him to NOT be a stubborn mule for once in his life.

The Hound chuckles in defeat. „If it stops you from haunting me from the grave, so be it!"

The vision disappears and he straightens up to his full height. He still thinks it's a bad idea but his mind is made up and maybe, maybe this one time his foolishness will result in something pleasurable.

On the way towards the part of the castle where he knows the private rooms of the Starks are situated, the big man tells himself that it is mainly curiosity that drives him there. He passes a few guards who give him odd looks but do not dare to question his right to venture where he does. Realising he has no idea on which door to knock he turns and asks one of the watchman where he might find the Lady Sansa. The young boy points towards the end of the long corridor where a lonesome figure is sat on a low bench. Nodding his thanks the Hound continues his way deeper into the bowels of Winterfell. When he stops in front of the last guard he finds him fast asleep. Anger wells up in the man who has never neglected his duty in such a way and he kicks the careless watchman hard on the shins. The unfortunate soldier wakes with a scream and jumps up but the pain inflicted on his legs makes him tumble and he crashes hard against the door he has been guarding so badly, thereby alerting the sole inhabitant of the room behind it that a visitor is likely to have arrived.

An enraged Hound is about to teach the the man on the floor a thorough lesson on guard duties but stops dead in his tracks as the heavy door is being opened and Sansa stands there dressed in only a loose fitting robe over a silken white shift, her flaming red hair in a single braid. She assesses the situation with one look and dismisses the negligent watchman for the night. Hardly able to believe the narrow escape he is given he scrambles to his feet, bows and quickly limps away.

The warrior and the lady pay him no more attention, they are busy staring at each other. Eventually Sansa steps aside and beckons for her visitor to enter. The door closes behind them with a final click. They are alone.