Chapter Two

He wasted no time in getting to his duties Sansa noticed and it wasn't like the time when they both were in King's Landing. There were less bitter remarks and frightening tactics instead it was a little off putting how little he talked. He bit back when sworn at sure, but he didn't deliberately try to antagonise anyone there.

Like she said, it was off putting.

Sighing as the last order was signed in time for dinner she strode passed Sandor and continued to the hall where everyone would be eating their rations now. Speaking of food her guard probably hadn't eaten all day.

"Sandor if you need to change off early to eat, Lady Brienne can take over?" she offered, her fingers playing with the threads holding the wool together.

"Fuck that little bird, I can wait," he grumbled, his shoulders rolling back while his dark eyes never left watching over her shoulders.

Swallowing she nodded before continuing to her space to eat her dinner. Not that she ate much. She knew what was coming when she finally came to rest and the food rested like iron in the bottom of her stomach. After a few mouthfuls, she pushed the rest around her plate for the remaining meal.

She knew she couldn't put it off forever but still she dragged her feet as much as a lady could get away with to her room. If Sandor noticed her slowed pace he didn't say but he did double check her room as if he thought the enemy was loitering there.

If only.

Saying a shaky goodnight she quickly changed into her winter shift and wrapped herself snugly in the furs and waited for sleep and the nightmares to overcome her.

…o0o…

The little bird had been acting strangely at dinner. He shifted his feet, checking down each side of the corridor, wary that an enemy would sneak up on him. What wasn't she telling him? He checked the windows and all the possible places to hide in her room and no one was there. Yet the little bird still wasn't reassured if anything the blood drained from her face so fast that he was worried she would drop to the hard flood as she stepped over the threshold into her room.

He flexed his hand around his sword handle. It felt weird to be guarding her again. He never meant to blurt out what he had and he couldn't say he could complain because he could almost pretend it was like King's Landing except with less spies and his lady less beaten and bruised. It had been a few hours since the little bird went into her room, she was probably fast asleep. He only had another couple of hours until he could get drunk and pass out in his bed.

Then he heard the scream come from inside the room he was supposed to be guarding.

Alarmed he shoved his way into the room, his gaze directed onto Sansa first to see where her attacker was before he had another reason to be concerned. She was thrashing in her bed, screaming, her hands in fists, her back arching off the bed as her eyes were clenched shut in horror.

"No! NO! PLEASE NO RAMSEY NO!" She shrieked, her fists slamming into the mattress. "STOP! I BEG YOU NO NO PLEASE NO NOT THERE DON'T DON'T PLEASE NO-"

Racing over he shook her shoulders.

"My lady," he stumbled, his hands tightening as he continued to try and wrench her from her dreams.

With a gasp and a hand slapping his cheek Sansa's eyes popped open wide. Grabbing her wrists so she wouldn't hit him again, her blue eyes had his stock still. His cheek burned but he could barely feel its heat under the terror filled eyes that absorbed his entire being.

"Sandor," her lip wobbled, her voice trying for imperious but was succeeding more at imitating a mouse. "What-What are you doing in my room?"

Sensing that it was safe he slowly released her wrists.

"You were having a nightmare," he grouched, standing and heading over to the pitcher which he knew had the mulled wine. "You were screaming."

After pouring the wine into the kettle and put it on the fire he glanced back to see Sansa staring down at the blankets, the tears left over from her dream stark against her pale face. The next few minutes she didn't say anything as he grabbed the wine and poured her a cup and took it to her bed.

As she drained it as quickly as the heat would allow he thought that would be the end of it as he stood over her, determined to see her finish the alcohol to soothe her nerves. He was not expecting the floods of tears. They weren't the dainty weeps of a lady in court. This didn't even come close. These were sobs that were wrenched out of her chest and the wails would be enough to frighten a dragon away. They showed the agony for the little bird's soul, it was a wonder her heart could handle the strain.

Alarmed he wavered as he shut the door. Did he go get Brienne? She was a woman, she would know what to do, right? He glanced at the door, prepared to open it again. But then this would be the opportune moment for assassins. Sighing he knew what he had to do. Sandor walked back carefully, determined not to alarm her further with his face. Perching on the edge of the bed with a rattle of his armour, he reached for his handkerchief and before he could convince himself otherwise, he brought the fabric up and rubbed away her tears.

Sansa froze her eyes staring up at him, her shoulder stiff. Pausing he stared down at her, silently asking permission. Answering his unasked question, she finally relaxed, taking the cloth gently from him to daintily dab at her eyes. He was such a brute of course, he was the wrong person here. Seeing the way she was sniffling, words were choking in his throat until he finally he spit:

"Little birds don't cry when their predators are killed," he grouched, his hand wavering above her head. "So neither should you."

Deciding that he was in one of the hells already, he might as well go for broke and settled his hand on top of her head.

Instead of reassuring her like he thought his words would it just sent her wailing again. His eyes widened. Fuck. What did he do now? Clearly Sansa had the answer as she rested her head against his chest, her forehead the only thing touching him. He tried patting her head to see if that would offer any relief but her sobs continued to wrack through her body. Shit he really should have gotten Brienne when he had the chance.

"I should have left with you when we had the opportunity," she breathed into his chest.

"Fuck that," he let his hand keep patting her head like a dog so brief it probably wasn't as reassuring as he thought it would be. "You probably would have still believed that shitty Littlefinger bastard and still been in the same position."

Blinking she glanced up at him her tears clumping her long lashes together. She did have the most delicate looking eyes.

"Ho-How did you know about that?"

While distrustful she still didn't pull away. The stupid fool.

"I heard from some of the other northern men," he shrugged. "But they weren't exactly forthcoming with the details."

Nodding she rested her head back against him and his hand that was awkwardly patting slowly began to give into the desire to see if her fiery hair was as soft as it looked and slowly began to comb through her long locks. He paused at the first stroke ready for her disgust, her fear but instead she burrowed closer. Swallowing he combed her hair again.

"If I had you then-" she tried.

"I'd probably be fucking flayed with the crows pecking out my eyes," he snapped. "And you'd still be in the same shitty position."

Flinching, she nodded her back shaky with her breaths. She reared back, dabbing at her face with the sodden handkerchief.

"Do you always have to be so rotten?" she asked though there was none of the former venom when she criticised him.

He shrugged as he went back to the kettle to refill her cup. Returning and placing the cup in her hand again.

"Drink," he ordered.

Dutifully she swallowed the cooled wine, barely grimacing. Repeating this twice over, he could see his lady's eyes finally drooping. He stood going to return to his vigil.

"Wait," Sansa drawled behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder he saw the way her shift had drifted down so he could see the curve of her cleavage. His little bird really had grown since King's Landing and he found that he had to direct his eyes back to his lady's face otherwise he would have had the problem below the waist.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Please could you stay in here and guard until I fall asleep?" she asked muzzily, sleep already trying to overtake her.

Nodding he went to stand a little further from the bed standing between her and the bed still. Like before words were choking at his throat with all the rage running through his system until he couldn't hold them in any longer.

"Wish the fucker wasn't dead," he growled. "Would've torn him limb from limb and left him for the fucking crows."

He hadn't expected an answer but he did.

"I did give him to the hounds," she slurred, her head burrowing into her pillow. "They tore him apart."

Swallowing down his response he pondered on those words until he was finally relieved. When he made it back to his own room, while his anger at Ramesy boiled in his blood he couldn't help the little smile that crept onto his face.

It was almost like she did give Ramsey to him. He was the Hound if he was there he would have torn him apart the same as the dogs.

…o0o…

When Sansa woke the next morning she was a little groggy but not as bone tired as she usually was after the nightmares although there was the strange headache she had. The nightmares…Sandor. Wide awake she glanced around the chamber where he was absent and she remembered that he probably rotated off sometime during the night.

There was a knock at the door.

"My lady?" Brienne's voice called through the door. "Are you awake?"

Rubbing her forehead gingerly she swung her feet out, daring to touch the cold stone and hoped to her bath.

"Yes, of course," she responded stripping off her shift.

The door opened behind her as she raised her hands to tie her long hair up and there was a gurgle. Why would Brienne make such a noise?

With a frown already on her face, Sansa turned her glare behind her until she squeaked in surprise. Instead of Brienne standing in her doorway it was Sandor who had a pinched expression on his face. Startled she quickly bent and picked her shift back up to try and hide most of her body.

"Uh sorry," he managed turning back. "I'll get the Tarth bitch in."

She didn't know where it came from but from all her ordeals she found that nudity wasn't as much as a shame as it would be considered. Not that she wouldn't be embarrassed if an entire group of men caught her in the nude but…if she had to trust one man, she could trust Sandor.

"Wait," she ordered.

He paused, flicking a look over his shoulder keeping his eyes firmly on her hair. Gods it was more intimidating when he put his eyes on her. Swallowing past her nervousness she turned back to her bath letting her shift fall just as she clambered into the bath.

"Close the door," she sighed as she leaned her head back. "We might as well get comfortable with one another since you're going to be here awhile."

He didn't respond and she hadn't expected him to but she did hear the bang of the door. Pulling the wash cloth to her she began to scrub.

"Little bird," Sandor's voice was strained and she could hear the shifting of his armour. "I may only be a dog but don't forget that I am also a man, this ain't fucking right."

Lolling her head so she could see Sandor she saw him still loitering by the door his back to her.

"Neither was going into a lady's chambers without permission and sitting on her bed," she commented letting the water trickle down her chest, revelling in the warmth. "Or getting her drunk but that happened last night."

He jerked around before he remembered and pivoted back to face the wall, spluttering.

"You want me to just pretend that I didn't hear your fucking screams?" he rasped. "Fat fucking chance if you wanted a working sworn shield."

Sansa examined his back. It was stiff and his feet were evenly paced out.

"My regular ones never came in," she intoned. "Suppose they were used to it by now."

He didn't say anything.

Sighing she pulled herself out of the tub and noticed her towel hanging on the hook by the door. She really needed to remind her maid to leave it by her bath tub. Biting her lip nervously she noticed that she would have to pass him to reach it.

"Could you please pass me my towel?" she asked, undoing the knot on the top of her head.

"Get it yourself," he growled.

Sending her eyes heavenwards praying for patience she stared at the big man's back.

"I can't without exposing my whole body to you again," she tried to reason.

"Great, a treat for me," his feet shuffled.

Certainly he wasn't as composed as he made out to be, she thought with a small smile.

"Says the man who has had his back to me this entire time," she placed her hands on her wet hips. "Clearly you have some problem with my nudity."

Growling, he turned and didn't flinch as he looked at her face or more specifically her eyes. His eyes not making the questing look further south much to her pleasure and slight disappointment. She already felt ugly enough as it was.

"I have no fucking problem with nudity little bird, it's your child body I have a problem with."

"Child?"

Her disbelief was evident especially when the objects of her first blood hung from her chest, and if she were to go by the crude comments men said when she thought her back was turned, they weren't small. She was eighteen years old for Mother's sake! It wasn't like when she went to King's Landing back when she was thirteen. Her exclamation makes his eyes wander and Sansa had a brief moment of embarrassment before she remembered everyone's opinion on the Hound. He was little more than a dog, not worthy of your notice or your embarrassment. But with his eyes raking over her she wished that she hadn't brought up the fact that he didn't seem to care to look at her.

She was not one for vanity but when every male who came into contact with her professed their admiration at her beauty and the ugliest of men would not say the same, well... Not that he was ugly, maybe more…rugged. Rough around the edges with his language.

"Aye, a fucking child," his dark eyes ensnared her again and a hot flush followed down her body until it pooled in her stomach like molten honey. "I've seen cheese more fucking mature than you."

Shifting her feet she was now beginning to feel the frigid cold which pimpled her skin and made her nipples hard enough to cut glass which Sandor seemed to finally notice as he inflated his cheeks angrily. Ripping the towel down from the hook, he chucked it at her.

Fumbling to catch it Sansa was grateful when he turned his back on her again without another word. Her pride had been bashed already. She was just a child in his eyes, an annoying one who had an annoying habit of screaming in her sleep. Gruffly she rubbed her skin dry before picking up her easy access gown, one specifically designed for no maid to attend her. Why should she care of one man's opinion out of thousands?

After the last knots were tied she turned back to her gruff guard. Striding past him she went to begin her hectic day.

She continued the letters that were demanding on her patience and with the headache from the night before, the day dragged especially as more and more reports, none of which were good, she was nearly at her wit's end.

Not to mention Sandor's sullen presence over her shoulder. She couldn't help the shame at her behaviour earlier. What did she want from him? Why should she care of a man's opinion on her body anyway? She had sworn to herself she was not marrying again, she would die a spinster if that's what it took. She even killed the baby that Ramsey put in her so that she would have no connection to that past marriage. Mother grant her mercy, but she could not find it within her to care that she had killed a life when Ramsey had killed her soul.

Even Ramsey always commented on her beauty although it was always followed by the comment afterwards of how he was going to ruin it and her.

Shifting in her seat, Sansa sighed. She wasn't concentrating and usually she would take a nap since that was the only time that she didn't dream but she didn't dare in case it would be an anomaly and she would begin screaming again. She didn't need his help nor any other man's.

"My lady," Sandor grumbled. "I think I heard one of the other lords suggesting that you should do the rounds to check on the progress on the various areas in Winterfell."

Nodding, she shoved her chair out gratefully. Sometimes she really did envy Arya with her prancing around in boys clothing without a care in the world. Speaking of…

"Is Arya causing you any trouble?" she blurted.

Glancing behind her to gauge his expression he gave a cocky smirk.

"The little runt has done nothing my lady," he laughed. "Although she does want to spar constantly with her little fucking toothpick."

Nodding she made the rounds in the bitter wind, just praying everyone would hurry up and finish so she could burrow back in the warmth of her room.

"Bring some food to my room," she ordered a passing servant and continued her quick pace to her room, resisting the urge to rub her hands together.

Ladies did not show weakness in front of the enemy. All around her were frail tethers holding all the houses in the north together and any sign of feeling the cold sinking into her bones and quickening her breath in panic over what could happen, they would break like the ice beneath their feet.

Finally pushing through her door she reserved her sigh of relief for when the door was shut and she finally flopped into her chair by the fire. Her temples ached from all the pins in her hair and not for the first time had she wished that, if it was acceptable for her gender, to shear it all off in the first place. She'd wear a hat, as long as she didn't have to suffer with one more pin stuck by her head.

"You alright little bird?" he asked, his armour clinking behind her.

Swallowing down her resentment from the morning, she rolled her head so she saw his shrewd eyes on her deflated body.

"Fine," she sighed again.

They were both silent to the crackling of the flames.

"Sandor?"

"Yeah?"

"How," Sansa paused, resisting the urge to wring her hands.

She was so stupid, she shouldn't ask him. As if sensing her hesitation Sandor snorted.

"Just chirp your apologies later little bird, what is it?"

Swallowing her nervousness she blurted it out in one hot rush.

"How do you forget about a battle? The people you killed?"

Sandor was silent for a second before he chuckled.

"Drink," he grumbled. "And a nice wet cunt. Sometimes the other way round."

Well, that was expected of him. Blushing she couldn't look him directly in the eye like the little bird he thought she was. Sansa nodded though, her hand shaking as she reached for her goblet of wine.

"I can order your goblet to always be full at dinner," he offered. "To help."

Help with what she didn't need clarification but a little bit warmed inside her at the suggestion. Shaking her head she walked to the window.

"It will go away," she said softly. "It will stop tonight."

Sandor grunted and didn't say anything but she could feel his doubt pounding at her back harder than the hammer at the anvil on the other side of Winterfell.

…o0o…

He hitched her skirt higher. She trembled and started sobbing, her fist clenching the sheets. Her heart throbbed and the sweat beaded at her neck where her hair was suffocating her. She couldn't breathe, she didn't want to breathe because passing out would be better than this. Always.

There was his chuckle and she bit her lip tasting the blood and wanting to gag. His boots knocked her legs further apart and where she was praying he would end the bruises at her hips he ripped at her hair.

Crying out she began to struggle in earnest.

"PLEASE DON'T DO THIS, YOU DON'T NEED TO I'M SORRY," she sobbed into the covers. "I'M SORRY I'M SORRY PLEASE PLEASE DON'T I BEG OF YOU PLEASE-"

"LITTLE BIRD!"

Jerking her hand sailed to her assailant's face before it was caught in a strong grip. She gasped and tried to wriggle away. She could scent metal oil and wine. Ramsey smelt of neither. That was the worst part. He only smelt like fresh spearmint and the perfume that the servants chose that day. He was so clean. So the wine and death smell was surprisingly…welcome.

Her eyes managed to focus on the reflective surface in front of her but it kept shaking? Why did it keep shaking?

"Sansa!"

It sounded like it was muffled by cotton but last time she checked her hearing was fine. There was pressure on her shoulders. Did she just have a very heavy cloak on? Letting her eyes wander to her shoulders she saw big beefy hands encompassing her shoulders like she was little more than a chicken wing to be broken at the feast.

Dumbly she glanced up to see the Hound's face. His lips were moving behind his beard. She liked his beard, her hand started brushing it with her fingers. It was surprisingly soft, she thought it would be rougher, like the man. The incessant murmuring in her ears stopped and so did Sandor's lips. Good. She could feel his beard in peace. Her hand trailed to the burn feeling the crevasses and the cracks under her fingers. He really wasn't so poor to look at when he stopped talking and scowling.

He jerked away and she saw his lips moving again and he abruptly removed himself from her bed. Without the extra warmth Sansa found herself shivering. Why was she shivering? She was sweating. Boiling. She hadn't been this warm since she was down in the climate by King's Landing.

The memory threatened to overwhelm her until she smelt the familiar spices and saw the steaming cup of mulled wine. Grabbing it without a care she didn't feel the burn as she guzzled. Trails of fire trickled down the sides of her mouth and down her neck to her shift. She couldn't find it within herself to care.

"Another," she rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the cup away.

If her Septa could see the way she had fallen she knew that her knuckles would get a firm rapping. But 'pleases', 'thank yous' and 'napkins' seemed a little too formal when your sanity wasn't exactly intact.

The smell of the wine permeated her senses again. She tried to grab and guzzle again but found a larger hand holding her back, allowing her to only take sips. Again there was an incessant low thrum in her ears and realised slowly as more of the drink fell into her system that Sandor was talking.

"I'm sorry," she finally mumbled.

Her free hand provided a cushion as she propped her elbow on her knee and slumped into her hand. The wine was obviously taking effect because then she would have noticed the way her hand was dwarfed by the large hand that was still regulating her sips.

"Fuck your apologies," he rasped. "You okay?"

Her head automatically went to nod like she had for the entire time since she had escaped Ramsey before the string holding her head upright was cut and found she was shaking her head fighting back her tears.

"Another?" he asked, taking back her cup.

Nodding, she heard him pour and bring it back under her nose. Grateful she tried to spare a wane smile as she sipped a little more daintily with this cup. The smile clearly didn't work as he was still frowning.

Her hand came to his face again. He flinched back but her hand followed like a loyal hound to its master. When her hand traced the burns again she found she was captivated by his nose. How did a fighter like him manage to get away with not one broken nose? Clearly he was exceptional or he was just very lucky. She'd like to have believed it was the former. She traced up the narrow almost aristocratic nose to the frown line.

"I think you would look very nice if you weren't always scowling," she said dreamily devouring his form.

For someone who had killed as much as he with as little 'how do you do' he was surprisingly held together. Not like her. He was built like a weirtree, an oak, all nature ready to bowl you over in an instant of his mood.

"You mean less ugly than I am now, little bird," he hissed, yanking his hand away, standing abruptly.

"I don't think you are ugly," she murmured to the blackness in her cup, her head starting to get fuzzy and flushed.

"Yeah?" he huffed. "That's why you can't look at my fucking face?"

Glancing upwards, Sansa propped herself on her head board as she watched captivated by his chest that rose and fell faster than the incoming tide. What was under that armour? She had seen him training once or twice where he hadn't bothered with the arm plates so she saw his biceps rippling in the sun. He did have very nice arms. Remembering he asked a question she let her eyes drift shut.

"I don't look at your face because I don't like it when you scowl at me," she stated, draining the rest of her cup revelling in the blurry edges of her vision. "Makes me feel like a child."

"Because you are a fucking child," he snapped.

"But I'm eighteen," she drawled, glancing down at herself.

Spying twin trails of red in her white shift she pouted, her finger trailing it to her cleavage where the last of the dark purple was absorbed, picking at the laces holding it together. What she wouldn't give to feel the naked sheets against her skin. As her mind drifted she managed to bring herself back to conversation when her hand traced her breast.

"I mean I have been told they are greater than average," she blinked slowly up at him. "So I find it hard to believe that you see me as a child."

Gesturing to herself she found it hard to keep her balance and slumped back into her pillows with a groan.

"Aye that they may be," he snorted, taking the cup out of her hand. "But when you don't know what to fucking do with them, then you are still a cunting child."

"You feed babies with them, don't you?" she yawned, her head resting a little more comfortably on the pillow.

"Go to sleep, little bird," she heard under the ringing in her ears.

Was the room spinning? She couldn't tell. But the darkness that promised oblivion was welcome and Sansa dived back into the black.