Sandor sat at the bar with a glass of whisky in hand. This pub was a regular haunt for him; the customers kept to themselves and weren't bothered by others, perfect for Sandor. He rubbed his thumb against the cool glass and attempted, once more, to clear his head of Sansa.

Since that evening last week he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her or watching her as she danced in rehearsals. He remembered the way she had smiled at him, her hair swirling as she turned away from him. Sansa was like a ghost haunting his mind and it was driving Sandor mad. How old was she anyway?

Sandor groaned at the sudden thought, age hadn't occurred to him before.

But then again, what were these feelings? Did he simply wish to protect her, to look out for her, or was it something more? Sandor never bothered with women or relationships, it was all too much hassle; all he had and needed was his job, his money and his drink. But now that Sansa had appeared, Sandor was no longer sure of anything.

He then thought of the way Petyr Baelish had held Sansa by her waist and Sandor's grip on his glass tightened. She shouldn't have to put up with that, what gave him the right to touch her anyway?

Sandor gnawed on a loose fingernail as he continued to battle against the raging storm in his mind. The bell above the pub door jingled and a customer walked up to the bar, though Sandor ignored them.

"Can I get a glass of rosé please," the girl said.

Sandor froze.

He slowly turned to look up at the speaker and saw Sansa stood next to him, facing the bartender, wearing a loose fitting grey hoodie and jeans. Feeling his gaze, Sansa glanced at Sandor and squealed in surprise.

"Hey," Sandor said with a small laugh.

"Hi," Sansa replied, blushing.

Sandor frowned. "Are you old enough to be in here?"

She flushed. "I'm eighteen."

Sandor chuckled at her frustrated expression, feeling a small weight lift from his mind.

The bartender asked for ID and told Sansa the price of the drink. She pulled out her purse and fumbled inside for the money, but dropped it on the floor and the change spilt out on the ground. Her flush deepened as she scrambled to pick her money up.

Sandor turned to the bartender. "I'll get this one."

As the barman got Sansa's drink, she stood up, having gathered her money together, and smiled weakly at Sandor.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't mention it," he grinned.

Sansa fiddled with her hair. "May I sit down?"

"Be my guest".

Sansa hopped onto the stool and took her drink from the bartender, taking a sip.

"Don't you have curfew?" Sandor asked.

Sansa shook her head. "Mr Baelish has a meeting which will last all evening so I can stay out for a bit."

"Shouldn't you be with your friends?" But as soon as the words had left his lips, Sandor knew the answer.

Sansa didn't reply, but stared into her glass, as if recalling far away memories, and Sandor was sorry he had asked.

He ran a hand through his hair and downed the rest of his drink. "So what's your deal?"

Sansa looked at him and blinked in surprise. "My deal?"

"Well, where did you come from?" He asked.

Sansa hesitated before replying. "North."

Sandor laughed and scratched his forehead, knowing that was the only answer he was going to get for now.

"What about you, what's your story?" Sansa asked, resting her chin in her hand and taking another sip of rosé.

"You're better off not knowing, girl".

"Well then," Sansa pouted slightly. "Looks like we're going to have a rather odd friendship."

Sandor grinned. "Looks that way."

It seemed to him that Sansa had begun to relax around him and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him a bit happy. Sandor was pleased with the noticeable difference in her interaction with him when compared to her actions around Baelish.

Sansa drunk the rest of her rosé and placed the glass carefully back on the bar top. "I had better go; Mr Baelish is probably getting back soon."

Sandor felt a sudden rush of panic as she stood up to leave. "Want me to walk you home?"

A smile spread across Sansa's face. "Sure."

Sandor grabbed his coat and the two of them walked out of the pub, the bell jingling as they closed the door behind them.

"Where do you live?" Sandor asked as they began to walk down the road.

"About ten minutes away," Sansa replied. "We can cut through the park."

As they walked, Sandor realised that he wanted to ask Sansa more about her and Baelish's situation, but thought it best to leave it alone; she had her reasons and he didn't want to upset her.

The evening air was cool and the sky was growing dark, the lampposts illuminating the path in front of them. They reached the park in no time and the whole place was silent; the trees swaying in the wind. They came across a large lake that rippled with silver light from the moon.

Sansa smiled, her breath a white cloud in the autumn air. "It's just like in the play."

She giggled and skipped away from Sandor, flinging her arms out as she did so. Sansa twirled in front of the lake, her red hair fluttering behind her as she laughed. Sandor stood transfixed as he watched her dance under the moonlight and felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

Eventually Sansa came to a stop and sat down on the lake's edge, breathless. Sandor walked towards the lake and stood in front of her.

"What did you think?" Sansa asked, laughing.

Sandor nodded, remembering the way her body looked as though it had been dipped in silver light as she twirled. Wordlessly he offered her hand, which she took, pulling Sansa to her feet.

"You should- You should come and see the show," Sansa said, blushing slightly.

"When is it?" Sandor asked as they continued to walk.

"Next week."

"Maybe I will."

"I hope you do," Sansa said shyly.

Sandor turned away, grinning to himself.

They continued down the path and watched as tiny moths fluttered around the lights above.

Suddenly they heard a chorus of drunken male laughter rounding the corner towards them and Sandor saw Sansa bring her arms around her waist, almost protectively. As the men began to come towards them, Sandor put his arm around Sansa's shoulder, pulling her closer to him. He could smell her sweet perfume and felt her fragile body under his touch. The men walked past them without so much of a glance and Sandor dropped his arm, slightly reluctantly, once they were out of view.

"Thank you," Sansa said, laughing nervously.

They turned onto a road with rows of large houses on either side. They continued a little further until they reached one of the biggest houses; it had a huge tidy front garden and large windows.

Sandor raised an eyebrow. "This is your home?"

"Home," Sansa sighed, before turning to face Sandor. "Thank you for walking me back."

"Don't mention it," he grinned. "It's not safe for little birds to be flying around at night."

Sansa giggled and smiled up at him, one hand on the gate. Sandor was suddenly very compelled to sweep the auburn locks off her neck, run his hand through her hair and pull her close, kissing her deeply on the lips.

He cleared his throat.

"Well, night," Sandor said, his voice its usual growl.

Sansa looked as though she were about to say something, before simply replying. "Good night," she said and walking up the path to her house.

Sandor shook his head as he turned away from her, running a hand across his face. However in his flustered state, Sandor failed to notice Petyr Baelish staring down at him from behind the curtains in one of the upstairs windows.

"Keep it simple," Sandor muttered, though somewhere at the back of his mind he knew it had only gotten more complicated.