Disclaimer: Just enjoying myself and writing for free.

Note: The next chapter, I hope you like it. I find this story coming out easily, just a more concentrated focus on what we all want when we read this pairing, a bit of tension and steamy fun.

Your comments mean the world to me, so keep them coming!

The Devil You Know

Sansa

Sansa nearly choked on a grape as Joffrey announced the prize for winning his Marriage Tournament. Stunned she looked around to see if she had heard correctly, then quickly realized she had, as all eyes had fallen to her. Doing her best to keep her emotions as schooled as possible she turned her eyes to her King, his dark grin making her blood boil.

"Oh that's right," he continued. "I am such a gracious and generous King I would be happy to share my wedding day with a traitor." He threw Sansa a glance that made her stomach turn. "To any man who wins this tournament you will be married to her on the spot, you have my word."

The whispers began amongst the crowd at his words and Sansa did her best to look as regal as possible. While outside she was the image of ladylike perfection and noble poise, on the inside she was screaming. Joffrey had done many a thing to her over her years in King's Landing, but this was beyond humiliation. If a knight or a common man could pay the fee for entry, he could fight in the tournament, there was even a chance she could be married off to a commoner.

Sansa waited patiently for somebody from the small council to speak up, for any of the great houses to oppose this ludacris act. There was nothing, nobody, not even Lord Baelish dared speak against the King. She turned her eyes to Margaery, who only looked with pity on her friend not speaking up or saying anything to sway her new husband.

Joffrey leaned over, his head close to Sansa's ear, "Isn't that what you always wanted my Lady? To marry a gallant knight?"

He waited for her to answer, but when no words came he continued. "I for one hope the Mountain wins. I hear he knows how to treat a woman properly."

Sansa's stomach churned at the thought, she suddenly had no appetite. It was not a secret in court how Gregor Clegane treated his wives, now all dead. Her eyes moved subconsciously toward him, noting the hungry look in his eyes. All the men were staring at her that way though, a piece of meat on display, an object to conquer.

Tournaments had always been boring to her, full of blood and pain, male physicality on display. She had attended them only for social purposes and because it was her duty, now she had a very different interest in the outcome.

Tension filled the air at the King's announcement, and for once the tournament grounds were almost completely silent. It was clear the married knights were displeased, but none of them dared to question Joffrey's decree. There was a flurry of commotion as those knights withdrew from the tournament, leaving several unmarried fighters staring at the dias.

Sansa turned her head to Joffrey but he was busy discussing something with his soon-to-be wife, so she stood up, using all of her inner strength to not fall to pieces. Smoothing the wrinkles of her sleeveless blue silk dress she eyed the competitors.

"May the best man win." She said, eliciting a roar from the men below. With that the tournament was on.

There would be some time to pass before the top competitors would be known, so Sansa took this time to calm her tumultuous feelings. Coming to King's Landing had been all she had dreamt about since she was a child. The capital of Westeros, the King's court, a beautiful city steeped in tradition it had enveloped everything her childhood fantasies had been. In truth coming here had ended her childhood abruptly. She'd realized many things over her years here, a prisoner of the Lannisters. For one it had become abundantly clear that marriages like her parents' were not common, in fact they were highly unusual. As a child Sansa had always hoped her parents would make a good match for her, one like that of her parents. To a man with a good status, who was fair and kind. Now she knew this was far from the truth. Women were the means by which to secure land, wealth and armies. They were no better than prized cattle or well pedigreed racing mares. They were expected to live a choreographed existence leaving them feeling empty and unfulfilled, while men ruled, fought and fucked their way around Westeros.

Sansa sighed heavily, closing her eyes just a bit in order to quell her brooding anger. Whatever would happen at the end of these two days, she would take it with all the poise and grace of a woman of her station. She would not bring shame upon the memory of her family. She would be strong, she would be a Stark.

'Perhaps this is a means to my freedom?' she thought, watching the men crash their lances into one another to the joy of the crowd. Highborn men were often obsessed with conforming to certain social standards, perhaps these fighters would be different, more open...

As the day came to a close, the top five competitors were announced. Sansa listened with baited breath.

"In order of the standings," announced the tournament coordinator, "Ser Gregor Clegane."

'Oh Gods help me.' Sansa pleaded.

"Ser Meryn Trant"

'I'd rather die.'

"Ser Osmund Kettleback."

'No.'

"Ser Randall Garrus."

'A Hedge Knight, with no house.'

"Sandor Clegane."

'The Hound.'

Joffrey leered at her once the standings were read, clearly satisfied that he'd made a debacle of her life. True to her promise to herself, Sansa held her head high not giving any indication of how upset she truly was inside. The women on the dias looked at her with pity, not willing or able to change anything that had transpired throughout the day.

It would be difficult to sleep this night, knowing what was about to happen, that her fate would be decided on the next day. Yet again, true to her word, on the second day she wore a beautiful lavender dress, one that accentuated her eyes, brought out the copper color of her hair and that drew attention to her full bosom.

She sat on the edge of her seat as Trant fell to Sandor Clegane, Gregor fell to Kettleback and in turn Kettleback falling to the Hedge Knight. That left only Sandor and the Hedge Knight. The final battle was decided, it would be a melee with none of the traditional rules of a tournament. Sansa's stomach had clenched in this moment, not sure which fighter this change of rules would benefit. She did not know the Hedge Knight, didn't even know from where he hailed, so she hoped that the younger Clegane would win.

He had not been so bad to her, rough and unrefined for sure, but never overly mean. Sandor Clegane had saved her during the riots, he had wiped the blood from her lip after beatings. He had done his share of horrible things as well, but never to her. Far from what she had envisioned for herself as her Lord Husband, she held out hope that he would triumph.

'Better the devil I know than the devil I don't,' she had concluded.

She watched both men as they readied themselves for the final battle. The Hedge Knight was full of energy, smaller than his opponent and bouncing around in preparation for battle. He must have been in his mid-twenties, not quite twice her age but battle worn to say the least. His armor was in ok condition, bu his sword was sharp. Sansa felt nothing for him, that much was clear. No clench in her heart, no shortness of breath, she literally felt nothing as she watched him prepare himself. He clearly noticed her wandering eye, as he stopped for a moment and blew her a kiss. His lopsided grin doing nothing to sway her heard. She turned her head, not wanting to give off the wrong impression.

Sansa's gaze then turned to Sandor Clegane, the Hound. Nothing could have been more opposed to the Hedge Knight than him. Sitting in a chair under a shade tree, Clegane drank wine and stretched his arms, relaxing under the cool tree. He seemed not to have a care in the world, nor to be afraid of his opponent, who had showed himself a capable knight. Clegane regarded her with his steel colored eyes as he often did, expressionless. As she met his gaze there was something she couldn't place, a feeling that churned her insides.

The sound of the trumpet shocked her back into reality, it was the beginning of the final event. Both men came into the center ring, Joffrey shrieked in anticipation all the while looking over to see how distressed she was. Sansa's heart tightened in her chest knowing she would soon have a husband, a marriage of force not of choice. Both men bowed to the King then turning, bowed to her. She cracked a smile and nodded, unable to stand she was so weak in the knees from anticipation.

The final trumpet blow signaled the start of the event, the crowd watched the pair transfixed. The Hedge Knight danced around the larger non-knight. Dancing was a bit of a stretch given the weight of his armor, but nonetheless the man moved around Sandor with relative ease. Clegane held his ground, monitoring the overly hyper Hedge Knight but not taking a swing. The Hedge Knight was teasing his opponent, slashing at him, yelling some kind of insults all with the hope of the larger man lashing out. When Clegane did finally swing his sword, he missed, the smaller man smacking him across the back with the broad end of his sword and laughing.

Sansa gripped her dress in both fists as she watched, knowing that the Hound was easily irritated by such play. 'This could be his undoing.' She realized

Again Clegane swung his sword, and again missed. The Hedge Knight swiped at him this time, hitting his shoulder plate and sending the bigger man a step backwards.

Her heart was sinking, 'This is not going well.' Sansa realized.

It was when the overly energetic, and rather cocky Knight raised his sword for a proper blow that Clegane blocked it with bone chilling accuracy. His movement was so sudden, so fast that the crowd collectively shrieked as steel met steel. Sansa could almost feel the strength of Sandor's blow from where she sat on the dias. The game was over, the Hound was ready for blood. Sensing the surprise of his opponent and weakness, Clegane moved quickly striking the man three times, sending him stumbling toward the periphery of the ring.

Sansa was on the edge of her seat as the Hedge Knight sprang into action, charging the larger man. Their swords met again, the sound of steel ringing out in the nearly silent Tourney grounds. Sandor tripped the smaller man, driving his other foot into the man's backside, him falling to the ground. Sandor held his sword out towards the fallen Knight, a clear honorable sign to yield. Dirt flying in the Hound's face, the Hedge Knight was not so willing to give up so easily. His sword met Sandor's armor with some blood chilling thumps, Sansa covered her eyes for fear he'd chop off the limb.

Peeking out from her fingers, she was glad to see no blood on the white Tournament sand. Pushed back from his original position, the Hound didn't seem harmed, just angry. It was unusual to see a man of his size move so quickly, and Sansa gasped as he moved with deadly efficiency. First pushing the Hedge Knight back, having him drop his guard and then bringing his sword down in the very spot on the shoulder of the Knight where no plating was covering his fragile bones, slicing the man transversely across the torso, his body severed nearly in half.

Sansa held her hand to her mouth and turned away as blood covered Sandor Clegane's blade and armor. It was done, he had defeated his opponent with authority, leaving no question as to who had claim to her. Sansa suddenly remembered some words they had exchanged in the corridor, she knew he loved to kill, that it was the sweetest thing in the world to him. She swallowed as fear took her. All men were killers, this much he had told her and she knew to be true.

'But can I bring him to my side?' she wondered to herself as the stands began to murmur. 'Can I tame the most feared warrior in all of Westeros without a weapon?'

He was older than her, from a different stock all together, the polar opposite of what she stood for...and yet…

'I must pull victory out of the jaws of defeat.' She decided. 'I will not let him conquer me in the way he expects.'

It would not be easy to quiet his rage, but she was willing to try. There would always be a use for men like Clegane, cold and efficient killers. To have him on her side would be to ensure her safety in these unsure times.

Sansa Stark silently pulled herself together while she waited patiently for the Septon to say his words, hoping she could form a plan.