When did the pretty little bird stop fearing me? The scarred man wondered, looking down at the beautiful girl walking hand in hand with him. Never had a woman done such a thing, not even the well paid women whose company Sandor sought in Baelish's brothels; yet here was Sansa Stark, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, holding his hand and chattering on as though they were indeed man and wife.

Sansa was far more beautiful than he had ever seen her in the gown Tyrion's kept woman had given her. Her bright blue eyes glittered deep sapphire and the color of her attire set her hair ablaze. As she strolled alongside him, her abundant curves gracefully swayed with every step. To his dismay, the sight made his blood boil, his cock harden and many an admiring eye turn to watch her walk by. Though his face was covered by a heavy black cowl, Sandor still managed to stare down any who dared more than a passing glance at her.

Up until Sandor laid eyes on her at the festival, he was still undecided as to whether he would follow through with the Imp's request. However, once Sansa wrapped her small soft hand around his own and smiled at him, it was the first time he saw happiness reach clear up to her eyes. In that very moment, Sandor made up his mind he would take her away with him, no matter the danger, no matter the cost. After he made the necessary arrangements, he then met up with Shae and Bronn.

When he first considered the possibility of leaving with her, Sandor fully expected Sansa would not easily go along with the idea but now he was not so sure. Against all odds, as they took in the sights, the young woman began to laugh easily and genuinely seemed to enjoy his company. Perhaps it would be not so difficult a thing after all, he thought to himself, watching her laughingly drinking from his wineskin.

When Tyrion called him into his solar two days past, Sandor was ready for a fight. His little shit of a nephew had been pushing him too far as of late, and the Imp caught him glaring at him on more than one occasion. Well, Sandor was fed up with the lot of them. Despite the oft-repeated sentiment that since he was not a landed knight, he had no money of his own, Sandor had plenty of coin saved up from years of gambling and tourney winnings. If not for the little bird, he would have lit out of King's Landing months ago. Something about the young woman called to him, however, and made him want to protect her as best he could and so against his better judgment, he stayed.

"Clegane, do sit down."

"I'd rather stand," Sandor growled low. "What do you want, Imp?"

"Not one for small talk, I see," Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Let us speak plainly: My nephew has grown tired of the Stark girl and aside from tormenting her, he has lost all use for her. You saw how indifferent he was during the riots."

Shrugging, Sandor looked out the window. "Not my place to question the king."

"Yet you went after her without any orders from him."

"Aye."

"It seems for all your brutality, you have a measure of principle, unlike your somewhat less charming brother."

Sandor gritted his teeth at the mention of Gregor but managed to remain silent.

Tyrion continued: "Stannis is bringing the war to Joffrey in three days hence. I do not need to tell you what that means for us and for the castle. Sansa's mother and brother will not hesitate to kill Jaime should any harm come to her."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Sansa's Stark best chance for survival is to get out of King's Landing and the sooner the better, but you and I both know that Joff and Cersei will never allow that to happen."

Grunting, Sandor nodded, wishing he would get to the point.

"Her handmaiden Shae informed me that Lady Sansa wishes to attend the Festival of Swans; I mean to see she is afforded the opportunity." Tyrion set four large bags of coin on the table and pushed them toward him. "What I want, Clegane, is for you to dress as a civilian, watch over her, and if there is an opportunity for you two to head north…" Tyrion held up his hands and shrugged, "then so be it."

Staring long and hard at Tyrion, Sandor wondered if the Imp meant it as a test of loyalty. After a moment's hesitation, he warily answered, "Even if I agreed to do this, the little bird will never go with me," Sandor muttered full of loathing, the man remembering the many occasions he scared her. "She still can't bear to look at me."

"I know you find her naïveté annoying, Clegane, but Sansa is a sweet girl. You are not used to your um, women, being so refined as she is. Sansa is a highborn and she will mind you if only you would stop snarling at her," Tyrion shook his head. "Most men would gladly trade places with you-I know Bronn would."

"Fuck that little shit of a sellsword," Sandor sputtered out, unable to contain his fury. The little bird's innocence did not annoy him; on the contrary, Sandor found Sansa maddeningly arousing. Indeed, it was her reluctance to accept the true danger of her situation among the lions that aggravated him to the point of distraction, not her innocent ways. After many months of observing her, Sandor was fascinated by the curious blend of woman and child within the young woman. The very idea that the swarthy sellsword set his designs on his little bird infuriated him.

To his annoyance, Tyrion feigned surprise and then chuckled. "You must make her trust you, Clegane. If she stays here, she will not survive. Her life and by extension, the life of my brother Jaime, depends upon her escape. Will you do it?"

"I'll do it, but not for you," he snarled. "Not for your brother. I'll not do it for coin, either."

Tyrion heaved an exasperated sigh. "I figured you would say as much. Gamble with me for it, will you? I cannot return this to the treasury without explanation to Baelish, and that is a conversation I would rather not have, thank you."

Save for killing and fucking, there was nothing Sandor liked better than beating the Imp at cards. "Aye I'll give you one deal."

From the desk drawer Tyrion retrieved a set of playing cards. "Five card draw, the Stranger is wild." Slowly his fat fingers peeled off the cards one at a time. "I'll show my hand first."

Sandor leaned forward with a wolfish grin. "I got you beat, Imp."

"Not so fast Clegane; we've played enough that I know better than to hand over my money without insisting you show your hand."

One by one, Sandor laid down his cards. "Warrior, Maiden, Stranger, nine of swords, ten of dragons."

"A royal flush," Tyrion pushed the coin towards him. "Lucky dog."

Smirking, Sandor scooped up the bags and stalked out of the room. "I'll see to it the Stark girl is returned safe to her kin."

"I had no doubt you would," he heard Tyrion mutter as he closed the door.

The sound of loud clapping drew Sandor from his thoughts. An elaborately dressed wine merchant clasped Sansa's hand and exclaimed, "You both are standing under the goldenheart tree! Our custom dictates that lovers kiss under its branches." When they hesitated, he continued, "You Westerosi men are so cold! It is that queer religion you practice. Your Lysene wife surely is not. Go on, then, man, don't be shy."

s head to her. After nuzzling him softly, she then removed the cowl from his face and tenderly brushed her lips over his. Unable to resist, Sandor pulled her flush against him and deepened the kiss. He fully expected her to recoil but she only squeaked out her surprise, the sound mellowing into a small contented sigh as he deepened the kiss further.

Her fingers ran through the length of his hair before he felt her pull him closer still. The crowd cheered, and flushed, Sansa finally released him and smoothed down her gown. If I didn't know better I would think she liked kissing the old dog. Smugly Sandor settled her on her feet and covered his face once more, the man restraining himself from kissing her further with great difficulty. He was pleased to see Sansa dazedly smiling up at him, a pretty flush of desire coloring her cheeks.

"Excellent! Well done, ser!" The wine merchant handed Sansa a long albatross feather of pure white. "Such a kiss at the festival means good luck will follow you from this day forward."

"Thank you, ser," Sansa beamed, twirling it between her fingers.

"Bugger that," Sandor growled low, tossing the man a coin as he led a giggling Sansa away.

Once they were out of sight, Sansa whispered, "Please don't be angry. I did not know what else to do."

Puzzled, he stared at Sansa, detecting the worry that now etched her lovely face as she adjusted his cowl nervously. "Angry?" Sandor chuckled, pulling her into his arms once more. "Only a fool would turn down a kiss from you, little bird. Might be I'll want another."

A pleased expression lit up her face, gratifying Sandor immensely. "I will gladly give it…I liked it very much," Sansa whispered scandalously, then clasped her hand over her mouth.

Shaking his head, Sandor cupped her face in his hands and slowly caressed her luscious full lips with the pad of his thumb. Gently she softly kissed it and smiled up at him, her huge blue eyes twinkling merrily. "As innocent as you a beautiful, lass. Come, there is a beach not far from here I want to show you." Eagerly Sansa nodded and allowed him to lead her to a secluded alcove on the beachhead of Blackwater Rush.