A/N: For those who never believed chapter 9 to be the end.

Sansa was upset. She was sure Lord Brynden would accompany her to the North. Blackfish declared he was to stay in Twins, however.

'You need someone to hold the castle for you,' he said. 'This bunch of thugs is good enough to man the walls, but they have to be trained to defend them. They require a leader, and a trustworthy one at that.'

Uncle was right, of course. Even if the Iron Throne doesn't send their own troops to take Twins from the outlaws, there are still Freys left in the world. Some survived by running away from the castle during the slaughter instead of hiding in the tower with the others. They were too scattered and scarce to attempt to storm the castle by themselves knowing the captors are still there. But when they find out that the Starks had left, and Lady Stoneheart is no more, they might get bolder.

There was also Lord Emmon Frey who held Riverrun along with his wife Genna Lannister. If he still had Uncle Edmure and his wife, Sansa would pardon the Frey heir in exchange for his hostages; but Tullys belonged to Lannisters now, so it was out of question.

They sent out the whole flock of ravens, informing the northern lords of the Starks' return. Uncle warned her she shouldn't expect a response: most likely, by the time the letters reach their destination, she will already be half-way to the White Harbor. She was to depart within a fortnight, as soon as scouts return with the information which road was the safest to take.

Blackfish was wrong. Jaime Lannister arrived to Twins a mere week after the fire and steel had obliterated the red-tinged glory of the House Frey.

Sandor took his usual place behind the girl's chair, watching Jaime intently. The man appeared to be in a light mood, but his bright green eyes were broody. Quite a contrast with the calm blue stare of the ridiculous wench behind him. Brienne the Beauty, they called her. Beauty indeed.

So it's true Lannister lost a hand. Pity. He was a fearsome swordsman.

'Did you decide to turn this place into a second Harrenhall?' Lannister was saying to Blackfish. 'Lady Sansa is already called the Red She-Wolf of the Twins'.

'Why are you here?' Lord Brynden asked him, ignoring the insolent japes.

'As you might know, there was a deal between me and the late Lady Stark,' Jaime said. 'The Young Wolf's mother let me out of her dungeons, and I promised her I will send her daughters to her in return.'

'Well, Sansa and Arya are here, but not thanks to you, from what I know,' Blackfish said pointedly.

'That's exactly what I'm talking about,' Lannister nodded. 'It means I'm still indebted to Lady Catelyn. And Lannisters always pay their debts. So, what does her daughter want of me?'

Sandor saw Sansa's jaw drop. This made him smirk. Jaime never missed a chance for a good show-off, that's for sure.

'I thought you came to demand her to kneel to Lannisters,' Lord Brynden frowned.

'To the Iron Throne,' the Kingslayer corrected smoothly. 'Although I can see why its charm could get lost on you. An ugly chair. Terribly unsettling to sit upon'.

Blackfish said nothing to that. He was looking at Lannister with a malicious glint in his eye.

'There is another option, of course.' Jaime continued elegantly. 'You can put me back to your dungeons and annul the deal completely.'

'I'm tempted,' Lord Brynden replied, his voice deeper, harsher. 'But I have a reason to believe you debt to the House Stark is much bigger than you're trying to show.'

'Oh?' Jaime Lannister asked lightly though his green eyes narrowed somewhat. 'How so?'

'You see,' the tone of Lord Brynden was cold as steel now. 'I happen to know the words Roose Bolton said to Robb Stark before thrusting a longsword into Young Wolf's heart.'

Jaime gave him a look of polite incomprehension.

'And those were..?'

'Jaime Lannister sends his regards.'

Sandor could hear little bird's breath caught in her throat.

There was rustle of clothes as all the heads turned towards the Kingslayer. There was creaking of leather as hands gripped the sword hilts.

Jaime Lannister froze.

He might have asked 'Who told you this?'. He might have laughed. He might have said he always did his killings by himself. Sandor knew enough of the man to expect any of these things.

Lannister did none.

He clearly realized that, however numerous his party was, he was standing surrounded in the high hall of the castle washed with blood of its previous owners that were mercilessly and brutally slaughtered for betraying the family the last descendant of which sat in front of him.

And he lacked a sword hand.

And one arrow would suffice.

When the Kingslayer finally spoke, his tone was icy with no trace of usual irony, and his eyes cut like knives.

'Roose Bolton blemishes my name. I had no hand in the Red Wedding.'

He let the words hung in the air for some time.

'You might know I got into the dungeons of Harrenhall on my way to the King's Landing,' he continued. 'Bolton set me free. When we part company, I, thinking he was a Stark man, asked him to give my regards to Robb Stark. That's all it was.'

Jaime stopped speaking and the hall went as silent as a crypt.

Sandor had to give it to Blackfish. The man was clever. Very clever. If he asked Lannister to deal with Bolton as a repayment of the debt Lannister owed Lady Catelyn, Jaime could as easily agree as he could back away. After all, the agreement was about hostages, not blood.

But, despite of all the Seven Kingdoms thinking otherwise, Jaime Lannister had honour. Not the stupidly proud sort of an honour the Stark boy possessed. Not the bloody unyielding sort the old Lord Stark was known for. His own, Lannister, way of honour, but honour nevertheless.

As much as Lannister liked to flaunt his nickname, he was not a cold-blood unscrupulous murderer like his father was. Jaime wouldn't stand people talking Boltons did his killings for him. Sandor didn't know what Lannister would do, but the old flayer's life was suddenly worth much less than a heartbeat ago. Sandor wondered to which extent Tully knew what he was doing.

When the Kingslayer finally spoke again, his eyes was on Sansa.

'I'm sorry for your losses, my lady. As much as I am enthralled by your warm hospitality, I really should be on my way. Please, name the favor you ask of me, and let's make a deal.'

Sandor saw little bird sit straighter on her chair. What will she say now? Would it be some proud nonsense about not dealing with traitors and wordbreakers? Would she go bloody and demand his head as a repayment for the words Blackfish just announced? Would she settle on putting him back in her dungeons?

'Lord Jaime Lannister.' Her voice was clear and strong. 'I demand you to deliver Lord Edmure Tully, his wife, and child to the Twins, alive and unhurt.' She made a pause, letting the words sink in and all the heads to turn her way. Sandor felt his mouth twitch. The girl had learnt queening all right. 'Do we have a deal?'

The Kingslayer turned to give Lord Brynden Blackfish a long calculating stare.

'We have a deal,' he replied.

Sandor knew why he felt obliged to follow Jaime when the Kingslayer nodded at him at his way out of the great hall. He served Lannisters since he was twelve. And Jaime has always been decent to him.

He also knew it was a stupid thing to do.

'Why?' Jaime asked, while his countless squires swarmed around saddling his horse.

'Why what?' Sandor grumbled.

'Why did you leave my sister's service? How did the Starks buy you?'

'They made me a lord,' he said, keeping his face carefully blank.

'Come on. You never cared for this sort of things,' Jaime looked at him through narrowed eyes. 'It's the girl, right?'

Sandor said nothing.

'If you were running away from my sister, I could understand that,' Jaime continued. 'But she treated you fairly, from what I hear. So, it must be the girl.'

Sandor said nothing.

'What's so special about her?' Jaime pressed on. 'I mean, she is pretty and all that, but my sister is far prettier still. What did Sansa Stark do to charm you so?'

This time, the Kingslayer got a reply.

'She is a true lady,' the Hound answered.

'I demand a trial,' Arya announced. 'He killed Mycah. He should be punished.'

The Hound snorted, but Sansa was not amused. Her little sister truly hated her sworn shield, it seemed. She tried to set her great wolf on him the moment they met. The bloodshed and the fire that followed shortly afterwards switched her mind off it for the time being, but now the hatred returned tenfold.

'He was ordered to do it by his liege,' Sansa told her sister patiently. 'You cannot punish a servant for obeying an order. Now Sandor is my sworn shield and...'

'How could you agree to this?' Arya demanded furiously. 'Father never took murderers into his service!'

'Didn't he now?' the Hound laughed mockingly. 'I thought it was your sister whose head was full of knights and songs.'

Sansa sighed. She loved to have Arya back, but when her sister behaved as stupidly as that, it made Sansa want to stomp her foot and run tell Mother.

'A trial, you say.' Sandor was saying in lazy tones. 'Let's make it trial by battle, why don't we? You carry a sword, she-wolf. Can you use it?'

'Yes I can!'

'Oh, I don't mean just brandishing it in the air. It takes more than a blade to make a warrior. I mean the actual killing, girl.'

'I can kill if I want to,' Arya spat at him. 'And I did, in the village where the queen's men wanted us. They killed Yoren, but they never got me and Gendry. We taught them better.'

Sansa gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

'Arya, what are you saying? Surely you didn't...'

'Did you indeed?' Sandor asked curiously.

'And that boy in King's Landing,' Arya went on, 'he wanted to seize me and take me to the queen. I killed him, too. Don't tell me I don't know how to kill.'

This new avowal rendered Sansa speechless. The Hound, on the contrary, seemed impressed.

'So, you want me dead, little she-wolf. Would you face me yourself?'

Arya hesitated. But Sansa intervened before she could say anything.

'No!' she said. 'Sandor, what are you saying? There will be no trial! What kind of idea is that?'

'A very reasonable one, I'd say,' came a voice from the hall.

Sansa became suddenly aware of a hundred eyes watching her. The hall that was half-empty when the conversation started was now full of people. She searched the crowd for Uncle Brynden, but Lord Tully was nowhere to be seen. The gaze of the young northman in sheepskin jerkin was the most intent. Sansa remembered him. He used to interpret the gurgles Lady Stoneheart made when speaking.

'This man is known for his many killings,' the youth went on. 'The name Clegane is hated around the riverlands.'

'You didn't mind me being a Clegane when it came to storming the bloody castle,' the Hound sneered.

'Our lady was busy with more pressing matters. Otherwise you'd face justice much faster.'

'Justice?' the Hound laughed. 'Who are you to talk of justice? Who are you to judge me?'

'Lady Stoneheart had no reason to hate Sandor!' Sansa interrupted. 'Mother allowed him to swear his sword to me! My brother pardoned him!'

'Maybe Young Wolf was too easy on him,' said the northman in sheepskin jerkin. 'Our lady was seeing things quite differently after the Red Wedding. She believed this man be a Lannister spy. And we all saw him talking to the Kingslayer yesterday. The dog never forgets its old masters, they say.'

'From the way your lady talked I wouldn't tell apart 'Red Wedding' and 'good morning',' the Hound growled at him. 'But if she believed me guilty she would jump me the moment she saw me, the furious thing she was. Stop putting your words into dead people's mouths. Speak for yourself.'

The northman's confidence seemed to quiver, but only for a moment.

'I have no need to speak for myself,' he declared. 'You did. You didn't deny you killed the boy Lady Arya was referring to.'

'Mycah,' Arya supplied, eyeing Sandor with rage that reminded Sansa suddenly of the Clegane's own hatred when he spoke of his brother.

The Hound shrugged.

'I was Joffrey's sworn shield then. The butcher's boy attacked the prince of the blood.'

'Did you see the boy attack Prince Joffrey?'

'I heard the story from the royal lips. It's not my place to question princes. And then, your queen was there and told the same tale.'

All heads turned to Sansa.

She couldn't believe this was happening again. If she tells the truth now, it will condemn Sandor. If she lies for him, like she did for Joffrey, Arya will never let the matter rest. Sansa felt the wave of fear rising up in her chest. Is she going to lose Sandor over this, like she lost Lady?

'What's the meaning of this?'

Brynden Blackfish entered the hall. He took in the situation at once: by the tension in the air, by Sansa's striken face.

'This man, Sandor Clegane, stands accused of murder. Lady Arya demands justice, but Lady Sansa said nothing yet.'

Blackfish threw the Hound a piercing glance.

'Long dead butcher's son,' the Hound told him. 'Cut him by royal command on the way from Winterfell to King's Landing. Was a friend of the little she-wolf, apparently. Now she calls me a murderer.'

'This man was obeying an order,' said Blackfish. 'Whether the order was just or false is not for us to say. Only gods can judge him now.'

'My point precisely,' said the northman. 'We demand trial by battle.'

'Trial by battle! Trial by battle!' echoed through the hall.

'Trial by battle!' Arya joined in.

'Seems like you may get your show, little she-wolf.' Sandor said with a barking laughter. He favored the crowd in the hall with a look full with disdain. 'Oh well. You will be one bugger the poorer. Who is the unlucky fellow you're ready to put to death?'

'Thoros of Myr!' Arya shouted, triumphant.

The Hound stiffened. Sansa felt the air stuck in her throat. Thoros of Myr, with his flaming sword. Arya must have noticed Sandor's fear when he was watching the burning tower. She knew his weakness, and now she was playing on it.

'The red priest! The red priest!' the Brotherhood scanned.

Sansa shot a pleading glance at Blackfish. Her uncle stood, frowning but silent. Her heart sank. She looked at the Hound, feeling the tears swelling in her eyes. Sandor was still standing still, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, like it did when he first saw the great tower of Twins taking fire. Then his eyes were on hers, and his expression changed abruptly.

'Bugger that,' he rasped. 'Don't cry over me, girl. Where's your fraud of a priest, little she-wolf? I'm ready to take his head off if you hate him so much.'

'It's you I hate!' Arya shouted.

'It'll make small difference to him.'

The trial was held in the training grounds, in the shadow of the burnt tower. Sansa was standing, gripping her greatuncle's hand, while the fighters were circling each other watched by hundred eyes.

'Why are they doing this to me, Uncle?' she whispered. 'Why do they want to take my protector from me?'

'It's not really about that, though they do hate the Lannisters and their servants,' Uncle Brynden answered quietly. 'I've heard the mutterings. They wouldn't oppose me directly, but the Brotherhood would much prefer me going with you to the North rather then staying here. If something happens to Clegane, I would have to go with you. So they must have grabbed the chance. Better if it's dealt with now, while it is not yet out of our control.'

'Not out of control?' Sansa thought weakly.

Thoros of Myr looked more like a pink priest now. His head was still bald, but his clothes were faded and battered, and his shape was closer to twig than to pear like it was at King Robert's court. Yet one thing remained unchanged. Lady Stoneheart used almost all wildfire he had smuggled out of King's Landing, but apparently he still had enough remnants to set his sword aflame for this battle.

The Hound cursed and grunted and slashed, but Sansa could see him rush and reel every time the flames got near. With a regular weapon Thoros of Myr would no match for him, but the flaming blade kept the Hound at bay, and the red priest did fought for his life. He knew he wouldn't stand the direct cut by Sandor's sword, so he dashed and twirled, trying to catch the big man from the flanks and set his leather armor ablaze. Every time the priest got too close Sansa gasped, and the Brotherhood exulted. They danced and circled and whirled, and there seemed to be no end to it. The Hound's lank black hair was plastered to his brow in a sheen of sweat.

'He is going to die,' she thought, panicking. 'Thoros will exhaust him, and then kill him!'

But the next time the burning sword met the cold one, there was a loud clang and the Thoros's blade snapped in half. The Hound backed out of the way of flaming fragment.

His next strike left Thoros with a useless hilt in his hands.

The Hound leapt finally ahead and gave the red priest a smack on the head with the flat of his sword. Thoros dropped on the ground like a sack of turnips. The Hound put the blade to his throat and looked up at Sansa.

'Leave him be,' she ordered.

Sandor nodded and sheathed his longsword.

'He was guilty, I know he was. He killed Mycah. He did. He did.'

'He did,' Sansa agreed bleakly.

'Then why did the gods proved him innocent?' Arya raged. 'If they are so blind, I'll kill him myself. I will!'

'I'm sorry about Mycah,' Sansa said, trying to lead the conversation away from the dangerous ground. Not that she thought Arya would actually manage to kill Sandor, but she didn't want to give it a try. One time was quite enough. 'But his death is not Sandor's fault. It's Joffrey's... and mine. I lied about what happened at the river.'

'Why did you do that?' Arya demanded.

Sansa smiled sadly.

'You never were much of a lady, were you?' she said. 'I was to be Joffrey's lady wife. A good wife is expected to support her husband.'

Arya snorted.

'And I loved him.' Sansa added bitterly. 'I thought him a valiant young prince, and a strong and just king some day.'

'And now you love the Hound,' Arya said suddenly. 'Oh, don't give me this face. I saw how you look at him.'

Sansa was still staring at her sister blankly.

'How could you?' Arya grimaced. 'He's ugly. He's evil. And a murderer.'

'He saved my life.'

'I don't believe it!'

'He did. And he spirited me away from King's Landing when I asked him. He knew he would be branded as a traitor, he knew my brother will throw him in the dungeon, but he still did it. And he has always been kind to me.'

Arya was still looking at her as if she just confessed of kissing a toad, or worse, eating one. But she said nothing. Instead, she reached to pet her wolf, her lips a thin line.

The door to her room opened so suddenly it startled her. She glanced up and saw Sandor, who had an unusual indecisive look about him. It seemed like he wanted both to step into the room and to retreat, closing the door from the other side.

She stood up, dreading some bad news, anxious something went amiss.

He entered the room, closed the door behind him and held his hand up.

'Don't you start that kissing business,' he warned her.

'I wasn't going to,' she assured him though her heart gave a mad jolt at the thought.

For some reason her answer made him angry. He frowned, and the corner of his mouth twitched unpleasantly.

They stood in silence for a long moment.

'You cried,' he finally said.

She nodded. His eyes were still boring into hers, as if he was waiting for the explanation. Doesn't he understand?

'I cannot lose you. I lost too much already.' She wanted to say more, to tell him how much his presence mattered to her, comforted her. But something stiffened in her throat. She was trying to swallow this tight knot down, when suddenly he rushed across the room towards her. She thought he meant to embrace her, but instead he went on one knee in front of her.

'Never worry, little bird.' His voice was hoarse and somewhat muffled, as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. 'You'll get back that frozen hell of yours. I'll kill them all for you.'

She extended her hand to touch his good cheek, but stopped herself just in time.

'Why?' she whispered.

This startled him.

'Why what?' he asked blankly.

'Why no kissing business? You liked kissing me. I can tell.'

The Hound was back on his feet again. His eyes darted towards the door, but something in her face must have told him he'd not get away that easily. Then he turned to her and gave her a dark look.

'Aye, little bird, I liked kissing you. Show me a man who wouldn't'.

'And before,' she pressed on. 'When we were on our way to Riverrun. I was younger then, but I still remember you kissing me in the barn.'

'Listen, what is this chirping about?' Sandor demanded angrily. 'Do you enjoy making me look a fool? Like in that damn song you love so well?'

'I want to understand why you're so angry about it,' she replied, strangely calm.

'Oh, you want to understand,' he sneered. 'Well, maybe this is the time for you to stuff some real things into that pretty head of yours. Something of real world. I want to fuck you. Ah, now you went pale. A word not so much to your liking?'

Sansa braced herself. It was, indeed, not a nice word. Not a word to say to a lady. She thought he was going say he loved her. But then, knights only said things like that in songs, and life was no song.

'It hardly comes as a surprise to me after the Gates of the Moon.' she answered boldly, and saw a flicker of doubt behind his grey eyes.

'Oh, you know this, do you? And you still ask me why I'm angry?'

'I thought if I gave you a kiss it would be easier for you. You'd know I...' she paused, looking for words, '... I like you, too.' She remembered his mouth, his hot kisses, his hands on her body. She blushed.

He looked at her incredulously.

'Easier?' he gave a short bark of laughter. 'Easier? I want to grab you and tear those pretty clothes off you and take you right here on the floor. And you believe you coming near and pressing against me and letting me believe for a moment that you're mine will make it easier? No, little bird. It will make it a bloody torture.'

Sansa frowned. She never thought it was that complicated. But then, didn't she feel the sheer strength of his desire for her? Wasn't it the main reason why she almost allowed him to have her maidenhead? His zeal captivated her.

Then a new thought occurred to her. It was not a nice thought. It was actually a quite malicious thought. A proper lady would never act upon it.

'You liked scaring me in King's Landing,' she said, stepping closer to him. 'It gave you joy. You knew it was a torture to me, but you still did it.'

She never initiated that kiss. It was him who pulled her closer and claimed her lips. She moaned into his mouth, giving herself away to the warm feeling of his arms around her. She needed to be held so badly.

This kiss was different from all the others they shared so far. Every time before he was rushed and hungry, grasping and groping, his mouth greedy, his hands demanding. This kiss was tender and gentle, reminding her of the times in King's Landing, when he was wiping the blood from her lips after Joffrey ordered ser Blount to hit her. The kiss was still somewhat harsh, mostly due to the burnt side of his mouth, but it was not fierce. It was almost as if he was saying sorry.

And he broke off first. He stepped away from her, avoiding her eyes. She took his big hand in hers, stroking his palm lightly.

'I cannot bed you,' she mused. 'I cannot bed anyone unless I wed them. And I cannot wed you either. I'm a queen, and you're a mere lord.'

The Hound snorted.

'I don't need you to rub it in, little bird,' he rumbled darkly.

'But this may change,' she went on softly. 'When we're in Winterfell. When we're home. When we're safe.' She lifted her chin. 'We shall see.'

He stared at her in disbelief.

'What are you talking about?'

'I just remembered one thing Lord Baelish told me once. Petyr Baelish was banished for aspiring for the hand of Catelyn Tully, yet Lord Paramount of the Trident married Lady Lysa Arryn.'

'What does this dead brat have to do with anything?'

'Win me Winterfell, Sandor,' she told him quietly. 'And then we shall see.'