Characters: Sandor/The Hound, Sansa Stark, Arya, The Kindly man

Disclaimer: All this belongs to GRRM up to and including some quotes that were used directly from the novels (because of the scene its written in).
Beta Readers: As always a huge thank you to the lovely Onborrowedwings for helping me make this work! Your help and wisdom is always greatly appreciated.

The Stranger and Maiden

It was Stranger's trumpeting, and the loud crack of his hoofs slamming against his stall door that brought Sandor rushing to the stables of the Red Keep. He wondered what the stable boy had done to piss off the courser. He had already warned the little bugger to steer clear of his horse. If the boy wanted to lose an ear or a hand, who was he to stop him?

Upon entering, Sandor found not the young stable hand, but rather prince Joffrey's terrified betrothed, Sansa, pinned against the back wall of the stables while an overly eager Stranger eagerly snapped at the basket she held in her trembling hands. Sansa, ever a little lady, was attempting to dissuade his steed from eating the empty basket.

'I swear by the old gods and the new, I truly have no more,' she stammered, her blue eyes glistening with tears. 'See? No more apples!' she peeped, turning the basket upside down as if Stranger cared.

'Oh gods be good! Please don't hurt me!' she whimpered, as tears spilled down her porcelain cheeks. The courser snorted, before forcefully butting at her hand, clearly unconvinced by her pretty words.

Amused by the sight, Sandor burst into laughter. 'Joff's little bird looking to make new friends?' he mocked. Sansa gave a gasp of surprise as she looked up at him. Stranger stomped his hooves, forcing the young woman's attentions back to him.

'Please Ser, I don't know what has come over him,' she stammered, attempting to shrink away from Stranger who had her pinned against the stable wall.

'Stranger, that's enough,' he gently warned, approaching the great war horse. The black courser gave a snort, as he stomped a hoof before withdrawing. Guiding the warhorse back to his stall, Sandor began to groom him as was his custom. The petite beauty was momentarily forgotten until she broke the peaceful silence.

'My pardons, Ser,' she began in meek tones.

'I am no Ser! Do I have to beat that into you, girl?' he rasped. Sansa shrank back, but refused to leave. Feeling Sansa's eyes on him, Sandor felt a rush of anger. The little bird always had enough courage to stare when he was not watching. The instant he faced her, Sansa would immediately look away. She always flinched at the sight of his face, most everyone did.

'Braver than you look,' he rasped. 'Only a bloody fool toys with my horse.'

'I wasn't toying with anyone, My Lord,' she softly pleaded. Sandor glanced back to her, and for the briefest moment their eyes met. Beautiful eyes of blue held him captive, before she shyly looked away. After all she had endured, all he tried to protect her from, at the risk of his own life no less, the little bird still could not bear the sight of him.

'You're a stupid little bird if you think he is some sweet courser for true,' Sandor snapped, grabbing her arm to prevent her from getting too near to the restless horse. Sansa swallowed hard. Her grip around the basket she held was so tight her knuckles had turned white.

'It wouldn't have been fair to ignore him, and give apples to the other horses, My Lord,' she politely defended, her eyes flickering between his face and her hands. 'I fed some of the other horses, but when I tried to give him an apple he-' she faltered as her eyes flickered to Stranger who was sniffing eagerly in the direction of her basket.

'Nothing in life is fair, girl. Don't ever believe different,' he warned. Of all people to speak of fairness, it had to be her. Even now, she clung onto her dead ideals as tightly as she held onto her silent gods.

'No it is not,' she agreed. 'But even the unlovable sometimes need love too,' Sansa added in soft tones. This time there was no fear, no revulsion or disgust, when she looked him straight in the face. Holding her gaze, Sandor found himself at a loss for words.

Releasing his grip around her arm he watched in disbelief as Sansa quietly departed the stables without ever looking back. It would be another ten years before he would understand, much less experience, the truth of her words.

Kiss of the Stranger

'Let us see your courage,' the kindly man said as he lowered his cowl. Where there should have been a human face was only bone and decay. His skull was a dull white, and where there should have been eyes were two black holes, in place of skin, pieces scraps of grey flesh clung to its cheek. Sansa could see movement in the hollow of one of the empty eye sockets. To her horror, a worm poked its head out, forcing her to bite back a scream. Instinctively she took a step back, her hand fluttering to her mouth. The man wore the face of the Stranger.

'Kiss me, child,' The Stranger croaked, his voice dry as dead leaves and hollow as winter winds blowing through naked trees.

Struggling not to panic, Sansa looked back to the door where moments ago, Arya had departed and she had entered. Recalling the lessons of her Septa, she fought back the urge to run in fear.

'Kiss him already!' her little sister would have exclaimed had she been witness to Sansa's hesitation. Arya was not afraid, if anything she was more eager to put it behind her and get on with the training. Naturally, she passed the test, her little sister always was brave beyond her years. She's a true wolf, Sansa despaired, I am but a little bird.

Staring at the skeletal face that had once been a kindly hooded man, Sansa swallowed hard; uncertain she had the courage to do what was necessary.

Give him what he wants, little bird.

Somewhere in the shadows, she could almost hear the familiar rasp of the Hound encouraging her, bidding her to be strong. Sandor was not there, if her sister was to be believed, he had been left for dead in the Saltpans. Sansa knew better, it would take more than a mere infection to kill her Hound. If she could escape the Lannisters, and even Littlefinger's clutches, surely he too could escape death.

Drawing courage from the memory of her last true friend, Sansa silently approached the Stranger with all the grace of a true Northern Queen. Rising to the balls of her feet, she closed her eyes, her lips whispering the name of the scarred warrior whom she had grown to love. With a smile on her lips she closed her eyes and kissed the Stranger full on the mouth. For in her heart, it was not the cold mouth of death that she gently kissed, but the marred lips of a man whose face had been touched by fire. Immediately, the dead god drew back, laughing as he did so.

'In all my years, I have never encountered the likes of either of you!' he exclaimed, as Arya entered the room. Sansa braved a smile upon seeing her sister's return. Turning her attentions back to the god of death, she noted much to her surprise and relief that in place of the Stranger, now stood the kindly elder man again.

'No one has ever tried to eat my worm before,' he said to Arya with a smile. 'Are you hungry, child?' Arya gave him a wry grin that revealed she was hungry not for food, but for knowledge. Looking back to Sansa his expression softened. 'And you dear lady, why are you begging for the Stranger's kiss? What am I to do with the likes of you?' he gently asked.

Sansa's cheeks burned for she knew not how to answer him. She could feel Arya's eyes boring into her as her little sister balked at her in disbelief. She was certain her secret was no more. She could not say what shamed her further, the fact Arya may know where her affections lay, or the idea a complete stranger was aware of the dark secret she carried.

Sansa's fears were immediately forgotten, as both girls were led further into the dark caverns of the faceless god's temple. Life was never the same again.