It was a horrible inn, it looked like a place thieves and unclean people might congregate, but they had little choice. It was the first place they had found after hours of travelling. It was only the third night since they had flown from King's landing but it felt like long, weary years had passed.

The inn itself was a two story building, the thatch had seen better days and it all looked slumped and uninviting. There were a few out buildings and a well, covered with another lump of thatch. The sign that hung above the inn's doorway had a white wolf painted on it, but the eyes had been sewn shut. It is an evil omen, Sansa thought, as she pulled the Hound's cloak around her naked shoulders.

Sandor led the two horses into the stable and spoke gruffly with the stable lad. Sansa watched him pay the boy a small gold piece and the boy had dashed around to see to anything they wanted.

'Boy, you keep these horses safe,' the Hound said, 'if that means taking them into the woods for the night, away from thieves, then so be it. I will pay you well in the morning.'

'Yes Ser,' the mouse haired lad had answered. Sansa saw the Hound grimace but he didn't contradict him. The boy's eyes were both blackened with old bruises and he looked malnourished.

'This is your family here?' The Hound gestured toward the inn.

'No, my parents are dead. Grastus gave my uncle a few coins for me.'

'Ok, get on with it then, and remember I'll bloody well run you through if anything happens to my horses.' The lad nodded and hurried to fetch oats, his ragged shirt flapping behind him.

The Hound grabbed Sansa again and they entered the inn slowly, Sandor holding her hand. He had to duck to get through the wooden doorframe and the people in the inn turned to look at them curiously.

'A room for the night.' Sandor put two gold pieces on the bar. 'Wine. Food. A bath for my little whore, before I take her into my bed.'

Sansa kept her face down and leaned into his side. She sneaked a look around the dark, musty room. There were five men, plus the innkeeper and a lumpy, round woman who was carrying a dishcloth and had an apron on. One of the men, a weasel faced individual, approached the bar. He spoke with an oily, sycophantic voice.

'Where did you get your whore from? She looks a tasty piece of flesh,' sniggering, he looked back over his shoulder toward the other men in the room; a few of them laughed and raised their wine cups to the Hound.

Sandor looked at the man like he was piece of shit under his boot, but then he took a long swig of his wine and licked his lips slowly and answered the weasel nosed man in a deliberate, careful tone.

'Got her off a group of men travelling to King's Landing.'

'Bet you paid a pretty penny for her.'

The Hound barked with laughter, 'If you call putting them in the ground a pretty penny, then so I did.'

Sansa watched Weasel back away nervously, but his watery blue eyes still looked at her hungrily. 'Only woman here is Grastus's wench and he don't share.'

The jowly, fat innkeeper banged a mug down on the grimy bar. 'No, I don't and you will be out of here with my boot in your arse if you even look at my wife.'

The wife laughed from somewhere behind the bar, 'Grastus, you know I'll sort out any man who comes near me with my skillet.'

Grastus and the men in the bar all laughed uproariously, this was obviously a standing joke. Weasel grinned in what he thought was a friendly way, but Sansa thought he looked even more odious, then he wheezed at Sandor, 'So what do you say about letting us all take a turn big man, only after you have finished with her of course?'

Sandor took another swig of his wine and looked thoughtful, as if he was considering it. 'Can't see why not,' he growled, 'if you can pay me.'

'Oh, we have a few coins, don't we lads, enough for a suck each.'

Sansa just turned her face away from the room and clung onto the Hound's comforting bulk. This was terrifying, but she had no choice but to trust the Hound. She felt him pull her away from him and push her toward the staircase. 'Get your wench to get the hot water sorted,' he barked at Grastus, 'You, girl,' he said to Sansa, 'get yourself clean and wait in the bed for me.' Then he called for more wine and Sansa walked slowly up the stairs, feeling all the men in the room examine every inch of her body.

The bedroom was as dirty as the rest of the place. The innkeeper's wife bustled in and started to fill a metal bath with hot, steaming water. 'I'll get you the linen from my room,' she said, 'he'll pay more for a clean room, I can tell.' The woman pursed her lips and greed altered her features into a satisfied grin. 'You'll be busy tonight, my girl. You can service the others down in the common room. Let the big man sleep in peace.'

Sansa didn't reply, just sat silently in the corner until the hard faced woman had finished all her tasks. She watched as the woman made the bed with cleaner sheets and added an extra blanket. Then she brought in a tray of cheese and bread and said, 'Your man told me to give this to you. He'll be up in a few moments.'

Sansa nibbled on some of the cheese. It was bland and unappetising but her hunger soon made her stuff the bread into her mouth and swig down the cup of brandy. It was so strong, it made her head spin a little. Then she got undressed and washed her body in the water. The soap was a hard, green lump that wouldn't foam but she washed every inch of her body and her hair. She used a ratty, thin towel to dry herself and got into the bed. Her only thought was to obey exactly what the Hound had told her to do. Before she slept she drank the rest of the alcohol, it eradicated all thought and worry. She passed out, lying like a star fish over the whole bed.

She was unsure how long she slept before she heard him come into the room. Her head was pounding and she wanted water. He was stumbling slightly, trying to be quiet but failing. 'Sansa,' he slurred, 'help me with my armour.'

She got out of the bed, pulling the blanket around herself and unbuckled his breastplate. He lifted it over his head and she helped him lower his chain mail and then he was pulling his clothes off and she watched him in the half light that came from the moon shining through the small window. He was completely naked now and moving towards the cold water in the tub. The silver light highlighted the shape of his broad shoulders, the defined shape of his huge arms. Sansa wanted to look at his manhood but she primly stared at his head until he had sunk his lower body into the water. 'Go back to sleep girl,' he huffed, 'I have no further need of you now.'

Sansa got back into the bed but she watched him. She was wide awake now. He was sat in the tub, his knees drawn up to his chest; slowly he was rubbing the sodden cloth over his body. Sansa was fascinated by lean shape of his back, the hair on his chest and stomach. He got out of the tub, wrapping the thin towel around his waist, and then he reached for a jug to rinse the dirt out of his hair. Once he had finished, he slicked it back off his face and Sansa could see every part of his burnt skin, where his ear had been, the painful ravaged furrows of scar tissue, it looked like molten silver in the starlight. She thought how it made the other half of his face appear even more beautiful and noble.

He pulled on his small clothes and lay down with his head on their pack.

'Sleep here.' Sansa moved across the bed so she was next to the wall. 'There is room; you should get some proper sleep in a real bed.'

'I'm fine here.'

'Please. What if those men come up here?'

The Hound laughed. 'They won't be coming up here little bird.'

Sansa was perplexed but she trusted his judgement of the situation. Self consciously she said, 'But are they not …expecting to lie with me?'

'I said they won't be coming up here. Now go to sleep.'

Sansa sighed deeply. She rolled onto her side, then onto her back. She kicked off the covers and then made a lot of fuss rearranging them. 'I'm so cold,' she said. 'Can't you hold me like you did in the cave? Please Sandor.'

The Hound lay back down. Gods help me, he thought, get in the bed with her? You have to be joking. But if she was cold, well he couldn't let her lie there and shiver, could he? He let his mind flicker over the events of the last few hours. He had made Sansa go upstairs first so he could drink some wine and try and find out some news from the ignorant pigs in the bar. The bar wench had served him some mediocre stew, full of buggering vegetables and hardly any meat. He had eaten it though.

He brought them all plenty of wine and ale, Grastus and his wife sitting with them as well, the wench telling ribald jokes about all the men enjoying Sansa later. It made the Hound furious but he let them fall about laughing, gleaning information out of them as they foolishly gossiped. The Lannister soldiers had passed through and a few of them had stopped to drink and impart some useful facts. Robb Stark and his army were heading for the Twins for a marriage, and Sansa's mother was with him. Joffrey was due to marry the Tyrell bitch in the next few days.

Weasel was watching him drink, his watery eyes fixed on the Hound's hood. 'Hot in here,' he said, 'want me to hang your cloak for you?'

Sandor laughed; a grim, joyless sound. 'As if I would let you touch my clothes, or my whore for that matter, you little bastard.'

Weasel jumped from his stool, 'What do you mean? We had an agreement.' His indignation caused him to knock into one of the other men who yelped in annoyance. They all turned to look closely at Weasel as he got up and went towards the Hound.

'I know who you are,' said Weasel, 'I do, knew it as soon as you came in.' He pushed at Sandor's hood. 'I said to myself, that's the fucking Hound, that is.'

The other men, bemused and drunk began to stand up. Grastus's wife gasped, 'Well that means we can get the bounty on him, and madam upstairs, is the little Stark bitch. Think of the rewards, husband.' She was pushing at Grastus, trying to get him to act.

Grastus said uncertainly, 'You, you are, you're the Hound?'

'Aye,' said Sandor, 'that I am.' He stood up and drew his dagger; then he pulled Weasel by his collar and slid the sharp blade under his rib cage in one smooth, practised movement. Weasel gargled in disbelief and slumped to the floor. The other men gasped and one began to reach around for a weapon.

Sandor pushed his cloak back and pulled another dagger out so he had one in each hand. He grinned at them all. 'I was always going to kill you. Think you could touch my little bird, did you?' He stabbed the one man in the throat and smashed the innkeeper's wife in the head with his elbow. She fell off her chair with a whimpering noise. Grastus was screaming like a pig and another, tall, thin man ran at Sandor holding a sword. It took two easy swipes to cut both their throats and their blood gushed across the room.

The three remaining men took up positions around him, two were holding blades; the other gripped a stool in his hand. Sandor turned slowly, judging which idiot would make the first move. It didn't take long, despite being a huge man he was fast enough to avoid their amateur attempts to hit him. He stabbed one in the eye, another he disembowelled, the ropes of intestine tumbled to the floor with a wet, slippery sound. The last man he smashed to the floor and stamped on him until the prick didn't move again. When it was over, the only sound was the woman, moaning on the floor by the bar. She was conscious, watching him with a terrified expression. The room stank of blood and the boards were covered in it. Sandor sheathed his blades and bent down to look the woman in the eye. She was babbling, 'Thank you for your mercy Ser, thank you…'

'No mercy, you filthy wench,' said the Hound, 'I just don't want to get a hole in your buggering dress.' Then he put his big hand around her fat neck and snapped it.

He barred the door and drank another skin of wine in the company of the dead and then he had gone upstairs to Sansa. After washing himself and lying on the floor he had wondered what she would think about him killing them all. He knew the bath water would be pink when Sansa looked at it in the daylight and his armour was splattered with blood but he hoped he could usher her out of there without seeing too much horror. He could make her wear a hood until they were far away. At least he had the wench's clothes for Sansa now, he wondered if the shoes would fit her pretty little feet.

And now she was saying she was cold, she couldn't sleep without him warming her up, her lilting voice was calling from the bed. These noble bloods can't do anything on their bloody own, he thought. Getting up he got into bed with her and she immediately snuggled into his body. He sighed, the poor little bird was very cold and he rubbed her arms and held her tight until she relaxed and drifted into sleep. He closed his eyes, but it took a while for sleep to claim him. His blood was up from killing and now he had to feel her chest rise and fall against his own, which made him long for her all over again. Resist, he thought, resist the temptation, you old dog.