Happy New Years everyone! I'm sorry this took so long to update, but life has been crazy. Thank you as always for your sweet reviews, they mean a lot!

There will only be one more chapter after this, but I'm interested in writing a sequel, so, thoughts?

Enjoy!

Chapter 10

Cersei had never felt more triumphant than that moment of watching the Stark girl's face turn to an icy white as she fell to the floor of the cabin. The apple rolled out of Sansa's hand, and Cersei decided to leave it; it completed the picture of tragedy. Smirking, she swept out of the cabin, eager to put some distance between her and the Hound before he returned from wherever he had gone.

It had taken her a long time to find the cabin that morning. The looking-glass could tell her where the clearing was, but not much beyond that since the shield prevented his magic from poking through. Cersei was sure, however, her magic of disguise was one that would not have been foreseen by the Hound, and the shield would not be able to prevent her from passing through to whatever was on the other side.

When she had finally come to the spot where the mirror had directed her, at first all Cersei saw was an empty clearing, surrounded by trees. She wandered about for a few minutes, cursing the looking-glass, until she noticed something peculiar. At a certain point the air in front of her would get distorted, like looking through a bubble. Cersei carefully reached out and touched the air, and her fingers brushed against some kind of layer. She pushed on it more until her arm came through. Stepping back, she retrieved a small hand-mirror from her basket of apples. "Looking-glass, I think I have found the shield. It seems to be complacent enough. My arm was able to reach through." "It is possible the Hound is not there, then. His presence must be what strengthens the shield."

Satisfied, Cersei put the mirror in her peasant's garb and stepped forward. She met with some resistance at first: the shield pulled on her clothing and hair, and felt sticky, but she finally made it through. Before her was the same clearing, only this time a little cabin rested in its center. And she heard singing. Looking around and seeing no one to fit the Hound's description, Cersei hobbled towards the cabin, clutching the basket of apples.

As she pushed through the shield and into the forest, Cersei could feel that she was coming back to her normal self, but she was too ecstatic to think about it.

Sandor cursed himself as he tried to finish rigging one of his deer traps. His thoughts were continually on the little bird, and he wasn't paying attention until he sliced his finger with a knife. "Stupid dog," he growled, sucking on the cut. "Pull yourself together. You'll see her soon enough." As much as he tried to relax, Sandor couldn't help but feel anxious and nervous. That morning, as he watched Sansa smiling and waving him on, he had decided to tell her how he felt.

The problem was he didn't know how to articulate his feelings into words. Sandor was always more a creature of action; it would be easier to just scoop her up in his arms and kiss her, rather than sit her down and tell her….tell her what? That she had become everything to him? That he wanted her and nothing else the rest of his days? That he didn't want her to ever leave him?

The trap finally finished, Sandor stood up and sighed. He wasn't sure if he loved the girl, as he had never experienced love before, or if he was just obsessed with her. Maybe they are the same thing, he wondered. Love and romance were always exulted and turned into wonderful songs and pictures of tenderness: probably what Sansa expected to hear from a lover. Sandor winced at the thought. He would never be able to charm her with words, but words were just words, weren't they? Didn't actions say more?

He could feel a headache coming on.

"Dog," he growled to himself. "Just tell her, seven hells." He walked farther into the forest, looking for another place to set a snare, when another thought hit him. As daunting as it would be to spit his feelings out into words, nothing compared to the anticipation of her reaction to his admission. A lump started forming his throat. He knew whatever the outcome, she would be as courteous as possible, as she always was. Sandor felt he would rather her laugh at him than try to spare his feelings.

I'm just a dog after all. And she's….well, she's a lady. Practically a princess. Not fit for someone like me. She deserves a prince or some stupid lord. At the thought of some nameless, handsome man taking Sansa away, Sandor growled and clenched his fists. No, he wouldn't let her go. She's mine!

Even if Sansa didn't immediately return his feelings, perhaps with time she would come around. He smirked at the thought. And I've got all the time in the world.

He paused for a minute to listen to the forest, when his hair stood up on the back of his neck. He gripped his sword and turned. The distant sound of birds crying reached his ears, growing louder and louder. Soon he could hear the beating of wings.

A group of sparrows burst through the trees and surrounded him, whirling about in a cyclone of frenzy, chirping frantically. "Slow down!" he barked. "I can't make out what your blasted chirping means." The birds tried to settle in some branches, but each continued to sing out various words until Sandor heard "Girl….old woman…the cabin…death! Death!"

A cold hand closed around his heart, and he ran, the birds rising up in a cloud and following him, as if to lend their flight to his own.

Sandor had traveled far into the woods, but running at full speed let him reach the clearing faster. The cabin looked the same, but it was very quiet, and a chilly sweat took hold of him. Keeping his sword drawn, Sandor hurried to the cabin. The door had been left open.

At first glance he simply saw the open window above the bed, and all the baking spread along the table, which had been pushed under the other window. Another step in and he froze, choking.

Sansa lay sprawled on the floor. She looked horribly white and still, and one slender arm stretched out towards the door. An apple lay near her hand. Sandor dropped his sword and rushed to her, pulling her half-way into his lap. "Little Bird…" he choked. Her skin was like ice, and with shaking fingers her felt her pulse.

A ringing filled his ears, and Sandor let loose a roar of anguish. "No…..no…!" He gripped the lifeless girl in his arms, rocking slowly. "No…Little Bird…." His vision blurred as a pain pierced through him, deeper than the pain his scars had ever caused him. Breathing suddenly felt impossible, and the air grew thick and constricted. Sandor realized he was sobbing wretchedly into her neck, grief and shock hitting him in waves. "You can't be dead…you're supposed to live…you're supposed to be mine…" He cradled her head and looked down at her, willing her to open her eyes and for this to be just a nightmare.

But it was real, and Sansa continued to lay in his arms, limp and cold. "No no no…..Little Bird…come back to me…." He rocked her, staring into her face, beautiful even n death. "This is my fault….I left you alone…" Angry with himself, he squeezed her tighter. "I should have been here…I was supposed to protect you….I promised…" He smoothed her hair. "I'm sorry…" His voice broke and he bent his head to her neck again.

Time seemed to have stopped, but Sandor finally lifted his head again, and instead of tears and sadness, his eyes were black and filled with hate and anger. Something within in him snapped as he stared at his Little Bird, and a black, all-consuming rage filled him, screaming for blood. He carefully lifted Sansa into his arms completely and carried her to the bed, laying her down on the furs. Then he turned and looked down at the apple.

One bite had been taken. He put his gloves on and reached down, picking it up. It looked like a normal red apple, but Sandor smelled something different about it. The red skin suddenly began to darken to a black, and grey mold cropped up along it. A faint outline of a smiling skull appeared, and Sandor dropped it in disgust. A poison of some sort, and brought by someone who had enough magic to find the clearing, yet inconspicuous enough to not be seen as a threat by the shield. He turned to the window where all the sparrows had been watching silently.

"You said something about an old woman. Who?" The birds could only chirp about a strange old woman in peasant's garb and carrying a basket of apples, and that she had told Sansa to take a bite. He swallowed hard, fresh anger and grief struck him. He turned back to Sansa and took one of her cold little hands in his own. "Poor bird…" he stroked her hair with his hand. "I'll find who did this to you, and I will kill them. I promise you that." He leaned forward and brushed her forehead lightly with his mouth, then pulled away, shuddering.

Standing straight, he held out a hand above her body and muttered a long spell, slowly moving his hand up and down as a shimmery but see-through case, like glass, enveloped her. A preservation spell.

That completed, Sandor walked out of the cabin, tearing his clothes as he morphed into the Hound. Grieving could wait; he had vengeance to carry out. Someone had dared to assume they could hurt his Little Bird and get away with it...he gave a bitter laugh. Well, they were about to find out how wrong they were.

He threw back his head and howled several short howls and long barks, then waited. He preferred to kill this person as a human, to gut them through with his sword, but he would find them much faster as the Hound. And with some help.

A short moment later he heard answering howls pierce the air, and seven wolves bounded into the clearing. Greyback paced forward. What is it, Hound? Sandor growled low. Someone has killed my beloved. Help me find them. The wolves cocked their heads and murmured amongst themselves. This doesn't affect us, one wolf interjected. Sandor snarled at him, baring his teeth. She was a Stark of Winterfell, of the North! They carry the Direwolf as their sigil. She is a representation of your kind. She is your pack. Do you not avenge your pack members?

At this speech the wolves all grew tense and growled. Greyback's eyes narrowed. We will follow the scent and help you find this killer, he said. Sandor nodded at him, and allowed the wolves to go near to the cabin sniffing. Sandor didn't doubt his own abilities as a tracker, but he knew the more help he had the better chance there was of finding this old woman. If she was sent from the Queen, she could have protection.

He sniffed around himself in the cabin, and locked onto an unfamiliar scent that made his fur bristle. That was it.

With a loud bark, he headed off into the forest, joined by the howling chorus of the wolves. The hunt was on.

A/N: ohhh Sandor is sooo pissseddd...