So I kinda went crazy and wrote this one in an hour. This is a pretty short chapter but I wanted to get something out there. Anyways, comments are appreciated!

Sandor stomped across the stable grounds, fury radiating off him with every step. Everyone he passed scurried off at the sight of him. At least his reputation still held. The whore house had been a spectacular failure the night before. He had tried fucking three different women, but each time Sansa's face would flash across his eyes, her smile toying with him. He had ended up leaving unsatisfied. He burst into the dining hall. Beric and Thoros sat a table eating breakfast.

"Maid, bring me food," he demanded.

The woman rushed off without question. He sat himself beside Thoros.

"You're in a mood this morning, aren't you Clegane." Thoros remarked.

"Fuck off." Sandor sneered as the maid brought a plate to him.

He seized it roughly from her hands and began to tear into the food.

"We were planning on going on a short hunting trip today. Would you care to join us?" Beric asked.

"What for, I thought you came here for supplies. Just buy your meat," He said through a mouthful of food.

"We would but they are running low. Besides it's cheaper this way."

"I'll pass on traipsing around the forest with you two. I don't like hunting."

"And what are you going to do on your own today? Planning on terrifying a whole room full of maids? Or perhaps you'll just follow Sansa Stark around like a lost pup," Thoros said lightly.

Sandor choked on his food. "What?"

"Oh, come now. We both saw the way you were staring at her yesterday. You looked like you wanted to take her right then and there."

Blood rose into his face. Damn this man for being so perceptive.

"You're out of your fucking mind. I don't want anything to do with the Stark whore." Just saying the words felt wrong.

"You know, you curse more when you're lying. And watch your mouth," Beric said.

"You don't know what you're talking about. What do I need with a proper little Lady?"

"Well wants and needs are entirely different. Besides, I don't even try to understand the inner workings of your mind Clegane. Nor would I want to."

"I swear to seven hells, if either of go around throwing out this little theory of yours I'll-"

"For God's sake, calm down man. What do we look like? Do you honestly think we have nothing better to do that spread gossip about you?"

Sandor grunted. "I'll say it one last time and be done with it. I don't give two shits about Sansa Stark."

It was, of course, at this moment that the doors to the hall opened and she walked in. Her red hair flowed freely behind her, held together by only two small braids. She wore a thick fur once more, though it hung loosely across her shoulders. She wasn't looking up as she entered, instead her clear blue eyes stared intently at a piece of paper in her hand. His eyes followed her as she walked past their table. At the last second her eyes flitted up to meet his, followed by a single raised eyebrow. He hadn't expected her to look right at him and did the only that came natural in that moment, he glared. She looked back down at her paper and continued on. He watched her all the way until she exited through another door.

"Yeah, of course you don't." Thoros said casually.

"I warn you Clegane, stay away from her. We don't need you going and getting your head chopped off because you couldn't control yourself and you end up assaulting her," Beric warned.

"I would never do that," He snarled. "What do you take me for, a fucking animal?"

"Well you didn't get the name the Hound for nothing." Thoros smirked.

"Bedsides, it isn't animals that rape women, it's men. And you are that."

Sandor stood and stormed away from the table. He didn't need their shit. He would never force himself on Sansa.

"Then why did you used to fantasize about her?"

He closed his eyes. It was true. Back as Kings Landing he hadn't been able to stop his mind from occasionally thinking of her in that way. But his fantasies had always, always started with her coming to him. He had never dreamed of forcing himself on her. He had never forced himself on any woman. He had done more horrible things in his life than one could imagine, but never that.

When he reached his room, he saw that a maid was changing his sheets.

"Bring me wine, woman." he commanded. She fled quickly and came back moments later with a pitcher in hand. He tore it away from her and she left once more. He fell onto his bed. He had hardly gotten any rest the night before and he felt sleep pulling at his eyes.

He stood in the entrance to the Great Hall. He was back at Kings Landing again. Light drafted through the windows and bits of dust floated through the air, filling the hall. A sound caught his attention and saw that someone else was in the room. She sat near the steps in front of the throne. He realized she was crying, her soft sobs echoed around him. Her back was to him and her head was bent forward. He didn't need to see her face to know it was Sansa. He would know her red hair anywhere.

He approached slowly. He didn't want to see her. He hated listening to women cry. But something forced his feet forward until he was beside her. He didn't want to speak. She was likely crying because of something Joffrey had done, the evil bastard. She looked up at him before he could speak.

"Hello Sandor."

He peered down at her face. There was something very different about her. Her hair and clothes were the same as she always wore here, but her face was not. It was thinner, sharper, older. Her eyes did not hold tears or sadness. Instead there was a strength in them that almost frightened him. When she stood, he saw that she was at least half a foot taller than he remembered her being.

"What's wrong?" she smiled.

"You look different."

"Is that bad?"

"No," he said in almost a whisper.

She smiled again. "Good."

She lifted her hand slowly until it rested on his cheek. He found that he couldn't move. He breathed in slowly. She smelt of flowers. She moved her hand slowly to his mouth, tracing her way around it. His mind shouted at him that this wasn't right. Sansa would never touch him in this way. He ignored it. It felt too nice. A woman had never looked at him the way Sansa was looking at him now.

"Are you afraid of me?" she asked.

"Yes," He replied honestly.

She grinned at him. "Good."

She leaned into him so that her mouth was close to his. He wanted to kiss her but he still could not move. He looked down into her eyes in time to see a hint of wickedness pass through them. In a flash of movement, she sunk her teeth into his throat.

Sandor bolted upright with a gasp. Both the feeling of her hand on his cheek and her teeth in his throat lingered on his skin.

"What the hell." He muttered.

He had never had that dream before.

Sansa rushed up the stairs to the main hall. She read the paper in her hand over again, making sure she had understood it clearly. She hurried through the doors. Even though she did not look up she was aware of the Hound sitting at a table ahead. His presence left a tense feeling in the air. As she past him she glanced up. He was staring right at her. Her heart jumped to her throat, but she concealed it. When her eyes met his he glared at her. What was his problem? She hadn't done anything to him, at least that she knew of. She moved on and entered the private chambers beyond where Jon, Tormund, and Davos sat.

"Jon, we've recievec a Raven. Walder Frey is dead."

Jon looked up in surprise. "What?"

"He's dead and his oldest two sons are as well. His Bastard Ryger has taken command."

"How did they die?" Davos asked.

"Well, it would appear that his sons were… chopped up and baked into a pie. Which was then fed to him. And then his throat was cut."

"God's." Jon whispered. "Whoever killed them must have truly hated them."

"Well then the suspect list must be a mile long." Davos said.

Sansa looked back down at the letter and smiled. Whoever had done it deserved to be rewarded. One more enemy down.