DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I own none of this, so of course I'm only writing it for fun :)

Inspired by a prompt in a sansaxsandor LJ community commentfic activity:

"Sandor doesn't desert but doesn't know about the Sansa/Tyrion marriage until it's there. Joff, trolling and plotting, assigns Sandor to spy on/ 'guard' his beloved uncle and good-aunt."

And also somewhat inspired by Death Cab's song "A Lack of Color", especially these lyrics:

"When I see you, I really see you upside down...but my brain knows better; it picks you up and turns you around...turns you around...If you feel discouraged that there's a lack of color here...please don't worry lover, it's really bursting at the seams...This is fact not fiction, for the first time in years...I know it's too late...I should have given you a reason to stay...Given you a reason to stay...a reason to stay..."


"Best wear your good doublet tomorrow, dog," Joffrey had hinted the day before. Sandor had not a clue what the little brat was speaking of; so far as he knew the next day was to be just another normal day at court.

He should have known that the mean little smile on the king's face portended something like this.

But how could you have known? This is an abominable farce, even by Lannister standards.

Sandor was seething with anger, and had been since he'd arrived in the throne room that morning and been told by a gleeful Joffrey that they were going to a wedding. "I'd rather not," Sandor had grunted, assuming that it was likely that fool Lollys Stokeworth finally being married off, quickly and quietly before she could give birth to that bastard in her belly.

"You'll go," Joffrey snapped, then collected himself long enough to admit, "It's my uncle's wedding, in fact. Uncle Tyrion, of course. I know how you favor him, dog, and I thought you would enjoy his humiliation."

Sandor's lip curled at Joffrey's pathetic jape. The boy had always known that Sandor despised the Imp, but the proof, so they say, was in the pudding these days. Since that buggering Battle."Humiliation?" he forced through gritted teeth. "Who's the Imp to wed, then?"

"Why, my former betrothed. Daughter of one traitor, sister to another, forced to marry my hideous little dwarf of an uncle because I cast her aside!" Joffrey cackled.

And Sandor Clegane saw red.


Cersei led Sansa Stark from her rooms, and Sandor was forced to meet them outside the tower with Meryn Trant. The little bird was paler than the ivory gown she wore, yet despite this, despite the stricken look on her face, she was still the most beautiful creature Sandor had ever seen. She walked stiffly, proof that she was being forced into this, yet she stood tall in her maiden's cloak. Grey was such a plain color - he wore it often himself for that very reason - but on her it simply belonged. The moonstones around her neck - a gift from Joffrey, he seemed to remember - seemed to glow, and though some would say that she was reflecting their beauty, Sandor knew it to be the other way around.

And the Imp will have her now, the filthy little dwarf. Why didn't I drag her off when I had the chance?

He knew why he hadn't. Because he couldn't force her. Because she sang for him. Because for all her nonsensical little chirps, there was wolf in her as well. Because she didn't belong to him, and she certainly never would. Because he was Sandor Clegane, the Hound, the Lannister dog, and she was Sansa fucking Stark.

Though within the hour she wouldn't be a Stark anymore, but a Lannister.

Somehow, realizing this made him feel even worse.

They were crossing the yard when the little bird looked up at him, caught him watching her, and when their eyes met it seemed that she was pleading with him. There's nothing i can do for you just now, he thought, tearing his gaze from hers as they marched forward to meet Joffrey in front of the sept. "I'm your father today," the king announced.

Sandor could practically feel the little bird's body coil tight in anger and was almost amused enough to grin at Joffrey's presumptuous mistake when she snapped, "You're not. You'll never be." Sandor would have grinned, in fact, if it hadn't been just as big of a mistake for Sansa to respond in such a manner. Joffrey glared at her.

"Oh yes, I'm your father, and you'll marry whoever I tell you to marry. You'll marry the Hound here if I say so, and I'll give you a chamber in the kennels. He can bed you there and you'll whelp him a dozen ugly pups if I order it. Or perhaps you'd rather be given to Ser Ilyn Payne? I can arrange that as well."

Both of these options were empty threats, Sandor knew, yet he felt his stomach lurch when Sansa looked to him again, her eyes wide with what he assumed was fear. He may be a better option than Ilyn Payne, but even Tyrion Lannister must be preferable to Joffrey's dog. This time he did not look away, but kept his gaze stony and cold until she turned back to Joffrey and begged, "Please, Your Grace, if you ever loved me, do not make me marry your uncle."

Before Joffrey could answer the Imp himself came through the door of the sept and asked for a moment with his wife-to-be. Joffrey beckoned to Sandor and as usual he obeyed and followed the boy as Joffrey moved off to the side with Cersei. It took all of Sandor's self control to not look back at Tyrion and Sansa, but thankfully the king distracted him. "Did you see the way she looked at you, dog?" Joffrey laughed. "She's more afraid of you than she is of my hideous little uncle. I wonder..."

"You wonder what, my dear?" Cersei piped in, her ton wary. Apparently she liked the direction of this conversation even less than Sandor himself did.

"Nothing, mother," Joffrey simpered. "Just a little jape that I have in mind. It only concerns the Hound, anyway, and he'll do as I ask, won't you, dog?"

Knowing this must somehow involve the little bird, but not knowing exactly how, part of Sandor wanted to say no. But of course he couldn't do so, especially not now as he was still sure to be walking on thin ice thanks to the Battle of the Blackwater and the thrice-damned Imp. "Aye," Sandor grunted, but there the conversation ended - Tyrion and Sansa had entered the sept and Joffrey's presence was required.

The anger that had been burning inside of Sandor all day was only fed by the wedding ceremony. As always the little bird did as she was expected, chirping out the songs and vows required of her while tears streamed silently down her face. Who are you angry with, you buggering fool? Sandor asked himself. With Joffrey, for tossing away a girl he'd never wanted, shaming her and then allowing her to be married to his own uncle? Or was his anger directed at the Imp? If so, was it because he was forcing Sansa Stark to marry him though she was but a girl, or was it because he would have her now when Sandor had wanted her for so long? Or was he mad at her, at the little bird, for not putting up more of a fight?

Only when they came to the changing of the cloaks did the wolf inside Sansa Stark rear its brave little head. The Imp was quite a bit shorter than she, he being a dwarf and Sansa being in fact quite tall for her age - yet he had no step stool and she refused to kneel. It ended with Joffrey calling the fool Dontos to boost the Imp up to Sansa's level, and for a moment Sandor felt what must have been a surge of pride in her, that she'd stood up for herself...even in such a small way. But when she had to turn and face Tyrion, Sandor saw something in her change, soften, and this time she did kneel, knelt to pledge her love with a kiss. Love, Sandor thought, scoffing to a farce it all was - there was no love in this match, not with the little bird being passed around the Lannister clan like a piece of property.

He had to turn his head away when Sansa's lips met the Imp's in the kiss that sealed their marriage.


Once the new bride and groom and their guests were settled in the Small Hall for the wedding feast, Sandor himself settled in to drink. He stood in the shadows not far behind Joffrey, where no one would be able to see him, and watched Sansa Stark - no, Lannister now- and her new husband. The Imp seemed to be in about the same mood that Sandor was in - he ate little while drowning himself in goblet after goblet of wine, and Sandor found himself thinking that if he'd just had the opportunity to wed the little bird he wouldn't touch a drop of drink. The bedding being the reason for that, of course, but as soon as that thought came to his mind all Sandor could picture was the Imp bedding her. His stomach turned and he lowered his own wine goblet, but he still couldn't take his eyes off of Sansa Stark.

When the musicians began to play Sandor saw Sansa touch Tyrion's hand and speak to him. The Imp grimaced - gods, he's as ugly as I am, Sandor thought, almost chuckling at the realization - and said something in reply that caused the little bird to pull her hand away and then watch wistfully as the king and his new betrothed took to the floor for a dance. Others followed, but Sansa and Tyrion remained in their seats - which, considering the little bird's love of music and all things courtly, took Sandor by surprise. Apparently the Imp did not care one way or another about pleasing his new wife...

It was Garlan Tyrell who finally stepped forward to invite Sansa to dance, and for a short time she was smiling - at Garlan himself, then at fat old Mace Tyrell, and several others - until it was Joffrey's turn. In the few moments that their dance lasted, whatever the little brat said to Sansa wiped the almost-happy look off of her face and caused her to move like a stiff old woman for the rest of the dance. A hot, prickly anger surged through Sandor then, but what could he possibly do about it? About any of it?

The same thing you've always done. Not enough. Next to nothing, in fact.

Joffrey's shout broke Sandor's reverie. "I think my uncle and new good-aunt have had quite enough food and drink and dancing for now," the king announced, "but before we bed them" - here he was interrupted by several hoots and whistles - "I feel it is my duty to give them a wedding gift. Uncle, Sansa?" He gestured that they should come out from behind their table, and though the little bird and the Imp shared a worried glance, they did obey.

Somehow Sandor knew that this could not end well, but even he was shocked by Joffrey's next words.

"We all know that my Uncle Tyrion has taken some unsavory guards of late, but now that he is wed to a great Lady" - here the mix of contempt and amusement in Joff's voice was so obvious that a hush fell over the four dozen or so wedding guests - "I believe he needs - they need - some proper protection. Dog!"

Sandor stepped forward automatically, his body moving of its own will while his mind was in a turmoil. What in the seven hells does the little shit have planned? he thought, remembering Joffrey's comments to his mother earlier that day. "Did you see the way she looked at you? She's more afraid of you than my uncle...Nothing, mother, just a jape that concerns the Hound..."

"What are you about, Joffrey?" the Imp muttered.

"Your grace," the king reminded his uncle, the words an angry hiss spilling from Joffrey's mouth before he pasted a smile on his face and gestured to Sandor. "The Hound has been my loyal guard for quite some time now...so loyal that I raised him to my Kingsguard in place of that old fool Selmy. My gift to you, uncle, is that the Hound will watch over you and my dear Lady Sansa for as long as you remain in King's Landing."

"Your grace," the Imp repeated Joffrey's admonition with rancor in his tone, "I assure you that this...gift...is unnecessary."

Sandor felt that he couldn't agree more. He'd been doing a good job of it, avoiding the little bird since the Battle, and now this? If there are gods, they are punishing you. But when he glanced at Sansa he saw that she was looking at him as well. Though she immediately looked away, he had already seen that there was no fear in her eyes, but rather a sort of...hope, mayhaps?

"And I assure you, Uncle," Joffrey was saying through gritted teeth, "that it is completely necessary. The Hound is quite the obedient guard. He'll stand at your door day and night as I'll order him to do, and he'll do anything you ask of him outside of that as well. Won't you, Hound?"

Would he? What if Tyrion ordered him to beat the little bird? The one time Joffrey had done so, that fool Dontos had saved Sandor from having to disobey, and if Sandor had nearly disobeyed Joffrey...the king...Cersei's son...who was to say that he would obey the Imp, should he give a similar command? Sandor gave a noncommittal grunt, and thankfully it seemed to serve well enough, for Joffrey gave a brusque nod and said, "There, see? Your new assignment begins now, dog. Tonight you'll stand guard outside the newlyweds' chambers. And now that that's done, it's time to bed them! Let's get the clothes off the she-wolf and see what she has to offer my uncle!"

Again Sandor couldn't help but focus on Sansa Stark, who looked terrified at the very thought of being stripped down by the men present, the men who were hooting and hollering for the bedding.

The Imp, for some unknown reason, put a stop to the ruckus with a few choice words. "I'll have no bedding."

Joffrey took hold of Sansa's arm and sneered at his Uncle. "You will if I command it."

When Tyrion Lannister reached down and pulled his dagger from its sheath, Sandor nearly hated himself for his immediate reaction - that being to step forward, hand on sword hilt, ready to protect the king. My master,he thought with disgust. But the Imp merely made an empty threat about gelding Joffrey, and the situation was quickly taken into hand by Tywin Lannister.

And then Sansa Stark was taken into hand by Tyrion. The Imp grabbed her roughly and Sandor trembled with rage when the little bird's face flushed red.

"Follow them, dog!" Joffrey ordered, and this time Sandor happily obeyed. The Imp turned and regarded him with narrow eyes, but Sandor merely shrugged.

"King's orders," he rasped, glancing yet again at Sansa Stark. Was it his imagination, or did the corner of her mouth twitch up into something like a smile?

He kept his distance from the little bird and her new husband as they made for the chamber in the Tower of the Hand that had been granted to Tyrion Lannister for his wedding night. Not for the girl, no - traitor's daughter, traitor's sister that she was, about to lose her maidenhead to a dwarf that had been forced upon her. Seven hells, she's a child, Sandor reminded himself. Did Sansa Stark even know what happened on a wedding night? Would the Imp be gentle, and even if he was, would that matter at all to her? Sandor's hand clenched over the hilt of his sword. One quick cut, that's all it would take...

When they reached the door to the wedding chamber, Tyrion whipped around and snapped, "I'll thank you to keep your distance, dog. I may have to suffer your presence, but I won't have you listening outside the door while I bed my pretty new wife."

The little bird was visibly trembling and Sandor could practically feel his knuckles go white as he gripped his sword hilt even harder. But he forced himself to nod his acknowledgement, and then they were through the door and out of sight.

Sandor couldn't help himself, though. He tried to avoid approaching the door, truly he did - but he had to know. Fuck, he'd failed the little bird so many times...he'd never be able to live with himself if he failed her in this, as well.

But when he inched closer and leaned toward the door to listen, Sandor heard...nothing. In fact he leaned against the wall all night, but he never heard the creaking of the bed or the Imp's grunts of pleasure or Sansa Stark's cries of pain as the dwarf broke her seal...was it possible that the little bird had refused Tyrion Lannister, possible that if she'd done so he didn't force himself on her?

Dare he believe that the Imp could be so...so...honorable?