I apologize for taking (probably a normal amount of time for "normal" writers) but a long time for me! My life has gotten very busy with my jobs and blah blah. Thank you for the continued reviews, alerts, and faves. I apologize for the roughness of this. I never proofread fanfiction. /shame.

Hopelessly, I'll love you endlessly
Hopelessly, I'll give you everything
But I won't give you up.
I won't let you down
And I won't leave you falling
If the moment ever comes

Chapter Eleven

The maester had come and gone, giving Sansa some herbal medicines and some tea to drink nightly before bed. During her examination, Sandor had stormed out, huffing and cursing. Quite frankly right now, Sansa didn't care. She hated him! How could she have thought that for even just a small moment that he'd be anything but cold, cruel, and disgusting. Yet when she thought back on how he'd held her, or the softer things he'd said.

'And the apples…'

She hit her head back against the baseboard. It stung for a moment, before leaving a dull throbbing ache, yet all she wanted to do was focus on that pain.

Arya had been quiet, surprisingly. When Sansa looked over, she was curled up on the bed like a cat, sleeping soundly. So that's why she was so silent…

Sansa stood up, her stomach protesting as it churned. The maester had said she was quite sick, but it wasn't anything simple medicines couldn't fix. The gentle, old man was quite sure it was from all the traveling and rain. She slowly began putting on her lighter dress, the gray and white one. It felt nice and clean, but it did have some stains from the journey.

She heard someone stir, and a bit of mumbling. "Sansa? You're sick! The maester said you're to be sleeping."

"I don't want to be sleeping," Sansa responded stubbornly, her face determined and cold.

Arya didn't knit her brow though. She looked at her sister for a long time, with that long horse-face and those big eyes. She looked so much like their father. It made Sansa want to cry. "I just want you safe."

"I know, sister."

"But I guess wherever you're going, I'm going with you." Arya jumped from the bed, stretching a bit.

"No. This doesn't concern you."

Arya then furrowed her brow. Her eyes were distant, like she was thinking so deeply that she was lost to the current world. "You're going to find him aren't you?"

"He has a name," Sansa defended.

"He's cruel to us. You hear what he calls me! And the way he looks at you…"

Sansa knew she was supposed to be angry at Sandor Clegane, but she felt sorry for him too. He was so heavily guarded within his own skin that Sansa was sure he hadn't meant half the things he'd said. Sure, he was mean to Arya, but he was helping her all the same. "The way he looks at me?"

Arya fumbled with her fingers, her face full of shame and fear. She looked so much younger than she was. It was almost frightening. "You know what happened to our Aunt. I think he wants to do the same to you…"

"You think he wants to rape me?" Sansa said loudly, her eyes round in shock. "Arya! He's done nothing but help us! He's been kind in his own way-"

"To ransom us back to Robb!" Arya defended. "And he calls me a bitch!"

"You call him a murderer!" Sansa yelled.

"THAT'S BECAUSE HE IS ONE!" Arya had never yelled so loud. Sansa was sure the whole world heard that scream. Her red hair blocked her face as she backed up, sitting back on the bed, feeling like she'd vomit again. Arya was right. No matter how kind the Hound seemed to be, sometimes, he was still a murderer. He'd killed in cold blood, he'd killed in tournaments, and he'd probably do it again. He even killed those men at the abandoned village.

"Then what do we do?" Sansa asked weakly.

"We have to get away from him," Arya said quietly.

Sansa couldn't tell if she was sick from her illness or sick from the thought of leaving Sandor. She felt uncertain about this. The two of them were girls. With no protection, what hope did they have to reach Robb?

"I…don't think that's wise, Arya," Sansa said, her voice shaken.

"I was alone. We could stick to the trees and rivers. Never come to towns. Stay away from people. We could do it."

"You were alone, and you got captured by men. Arya, this isn't a good idea."

Before Arya had a chance to protest, the door swung open, and there was Sandor Clegane. His face was unreadable, but Sansa figured he was still upset. Yet instead of melting and apologizing herself, she hardened her own expression, turning away from him as if she didn't even notice he'd come in.

Arya backed up, her eyes like a mouse's. "He's been drinking."

"Glad your nose works, bitch," Sandor responded, going over to the wooden chair by the fire, only he pulled it away into the corner by the window.

"You shouldn't call me that," Arya defended. "I'm a Stark.."

"A traitor's daughter. The both of you. No one bloody cares."

Sansa felt like crying. She sat back down on the bed, clutching her stomach. She made sure her back was to him. She didn't want him to see her face. 'Why can't I stop caring for you?'

Arya didn't respond. She went over to Sansa, lying on the bed beside her and rubbing her back. "We can't leave till she's better," Arya said changing the subject.

"Stating the obvious, wolf." Sansa noted that Sandor hadn't cursed that time. She almost wanted to smile, except she felt so miserable. How could they go from being curled in each other's arms and laughing to this? What had she done wrong? Actually, she had insulted him. She knew it, and he'd reacted in his typical way. She needed to apologize. She couldn't take this feeling in her belly.

She felt her tears slip from her eyes, warm at first, but as they rolled slowly down her skin, over her cheeks and nose, they cooled. She hated this. If Arya wasn't in the room, she could apologize. Yet she couldn't blame her sister. They'd been separated for so long! Arya was doing what a good sister would do, something Sansa would have never done for her before.

"I want to get some fresh air, from outside," Sansa said. "Sandor, will you please come with me?" She hoped this little plan worked.

Arya looked like she was going to protest, but she said nothing. Sansa could see the anger in her eyes though.

"Fine," Sandor growled.

He followed her out, steadying her on the stairs and always keeping a firm grasp on her arm. Sansa felt nervous. Her stomach flipped, making her tighten her throat, not wanting to vomit. She had to be strong, and swallow what little pride she had left. She had to make this better! Or it was only going to get worse.

Once they were outside, she took a few steps away from him, allowing her throat to open and take in the air. It wasn't stuffy like it was inside, but it still smelled heavily of rain and each time she gasped for air, it felt like someone was throwing ice knives down her throat. "I'm sorry," she said softly. When she heard no response, she turned to Sandor.

He'd been looking away, up at the moon. "Excuse me?" she said incredulously.

His eyes finally found her, yet his expression didn't change. It was blank, hard and almost lifeless, yet Sansa had learned to read the terrain of that face. He was hurting.

"I said that I apologize for what I said earlier."

He shrugged.

She felt rage enter her heart. How could he be so stupid? Or was he enjoying this? "You've nothing to say?"

"Don't have to apologize. You made it clear to me before. No need to pretend, girl."

She wanted him to call her his "Little bird." This wasn't going the way she'd planned! Maybe the queen was right. Maybe she really was stupid. "What am I pretending?" she asked trying to hide her anger and fear, yet she seemed to fail as her voice shook.

"Have you looked at yourself? Have you looked at me?"

The question made her blink a few times, furrowing her brow.

"You're gorgeous, and young. I'm…" He shifted his weight, trying to look anywhere but at her. "Well."

"You would've been so handsome," she said softly. "But I don't blame you for your scars. It wasn't your fault."

"You and everyone else have always looked upon me with fear. You worst of all once." He began pacing. "I'm not an empty shell made for killing and dirty work. You think it doesn't hurt me? When a small child comes up to you, only to begin crying, you think I'm okay with it?"

"It's not your fault!"

"That's not the point you bloody child!" he shouted. His voice was so deep it almost felt like the world rumbled when he yelled. "I can't…" he said much quieter, his face etched with a pain Sansa had never seen before. "You go back to Robb, and this fantasy will go away, and I won't be able to take it."

Sansa remained quiet. Her eyes were as round as a doe's. It all began to make sense. He was afraid… He put up barriers of anger and shells of self-defense, but he felt every insult, every odd look. He felt it all and he had no one to go home to go make it all better. There was no woman he could cry to, nor a father to rely on. He was all alone.

"It's not a fantasy," she said softly, walking up to him, stilling his pacing with a gentle outreached hand, grasping his arm. He stopped, yet he wouldn't look at her. So she pressed her hand against his scars, feeling the leathery skin, and the bone. She turned his head to face her. "I love you." She hadn't realized it before. Part of her probably was trying to avoid this, but she loved him. He'd been her knight in shining armor all along. This story, was as magical as the ones she used to love. A beauty with a beast, and yet there could be a happy ending. There could be, Sansa knew it!

She felt a single tear roll down his face to catch in the skin of her hand. He brought his own hand, much larger and rougher to cradle hers. "Please don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

Their noses brushed against each other's. Her stomach churned again, but it wasn't sick; it was elated. It was leaping for joy. She was able to finally do something right. She just prayed it would stay this way. His other hand ran up her arm, gently like a feather, up into her hair. He pulled her closer, their lips finally touching. She wanted to giggle from the sensation of the scratchy side of his mouth, yet moan from the smooth, silken tissue that remained unbroken by his brother's horrors. Their tongues, shyly at first met, but she pressed closer, taking control of the kiss, and forcing herself further, exploring his mouth. He tasted of wine, and maybe a bit of misery, but Sansa didn't care.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She couldn't get him close enough! She felt his heart beating, pounding against her chest as her own tried to spring from its bone prison to join with his. Her loins burned with a pain yet pleasure she had never felt before. Her toes even tingled. She hadn't noticed when she was picked up, her legs clinging desperately to his sides, hooking at the ankles. She'd done it. She'd finally gotten through to him, and it was the most beautiful moment of her life.

It wasn't until she heard someone gasp that they broke, he almost dropped her, backing away like a guilty thief. Sansa's dream, her elation, and everything so confusing and wonderful she'd just experience dimmed to a dull memory, one she tried to capture to relieve, but it never seemed the same.

Arya stood there with a look on her face that Sansa only could feel guilty about. Her eyes, so much like their father's bore into her like a knife to the throat. Sansa wanted to say something, to smooth this out, but Arya took off like a fox.

"Arya!" Sandor shouted, chasing after her. Sansa stood there, her body tingling and her soul screaming. 'Chase after them you idiot!' Her feet were clumsy, and she felt like mud was trying to bring her down into the soft earth each time she moved. The cold air pierced her eyes, making them water and her throat burn. She couldn't catch up to them. She couldn't keep going.

She collapsed to the ground, vomiting right in front of her, choking loudly on the vile liquid that betrayed her body. Her eyes watered, spilling tears and her nose drained of its own liquid. She sniffed loudly, using her hand to wipe at the snot, feeling utterly disgusted with herself. Each time she blinked, her eyes burned and she could swear they were puffy and inflamed enough her eyelids weren't completely closing over them.

The wind blew, howling at her, urging her to get up and keep going, but she couldn't. She curled in on herself, whimpering and trying to choke back vomit, yet it still came until nothing was left but uncomfortable dry heaving.

"Damn it!" he heard someone shout. She felt herself being picked up like a doll, cradled against a large, warm chest. "Little bird, you should be inside."

She tried to close her eyes, yet they hurt so much. No matter what they hurt! She coughed, her spine rattling violently, making her back burn with the movement. She was inside quickly, the warmth of fires soothing her aches and the comfort of her bed giving her a sense of security.

Sandor didn't bother with pulling off her dress. He gave her a pained look before leaving again. Sansa figured it was to find Arya. Why'd she run off? Why couldn't she have just listened? Sandor was nothing like Arya thought. Yes, he was a killer, but it wasn't…truly him, right? That kiss… No evil man could kiss like that. It had left her whole body in a trance. There was no way Sandor was a vile person. He was good! Just different…

But he was still the killer of Arya's stupid friend. That butcher's boy. She remembered when they'd given the man his son back… He'd thought it a pig at first. She could only imagine the pain of finally recognizing it as his son. She suddenly felt so very sorry for the man. Did Sandor feel sorry? Did he regret any of the killings he'd committed? He'd killed that other knight in a tourney on Joffrey's name day. It was only a tournament too! Did he feel sorry? The knight had family…

Sansa forced her eyes shut, knitting her brow together as she tried to keep them closed through the burning. She coughed violently, feeling tears sting at the corners of her eyes. Sandor was good… He had to be. He had to regret! She grabbed for her medicine, pouring a cup of water and drinking down the syrupy, yet clumpy liquid and washing it down with the water. She lay back on the bed, her head finally quieting down and her cough subsiding. She closed her eyes, falling asleep not too long after.

When she woke, no one was in the room. A panic sized her heart, like someone trying to tear it from her body. She stood up slowly, taking more of her medicine and washing it down with the water, brushing her hair, and then going downstairs. She found no trace of Arya or Sandor in the inn's small first floor. A few people were eating yet she didn't recognize any of them, thus she couldn't even ask if they'd seen her travel companions.

"Checking out, sweetling?" a woman's voice asked. "Your father's going to have to pay extra if you don't soon. Gotta make a livin' n all." Her voice was brutal. Sansa wanted to smack her.

"Where is he? And my sister?"

The woman shrugged. "Didn't see them last night. Saw only you."

"My sister ran away. They fought."

"Huh. Well, if you don't have the coin…"

"I've got it," a rugged voice answered, laced thick with irritation. Sansa looked up to see Sandor and Arya. He had Arya by the neck. She looked like a rabid wolf! Her cheek was bruised too. 'No…he wouldn't have. That must have been from a tree…'

Sandor shoved a few coins into the woman's hand violently before pushing Arya up the stairs. "We're staying till that one gets better." He pointed at Sansa, but made no move to make eye contact with either the woman, or Sansa.

The innkeep shrugged, going back into the kitchen. "Can I get you some food sweetling?" she called from the door.

"Sweet cream and a biscuit perhaps?" Sansa asked.

"I'll have it to you soon."

Sansa sat down, staring at the stairs, wondering if Sandor would come back down. What happened out there? She wanted to talk to Arya, but she knew when the girl was angry, there was no reasoning. She was a Stark after all. Stubborn.

Sansa coughed politely into her dirty handkerchief, trying to keep it as silent as she could so no one stared. She felt phlegm stick to the back of her throat. She stood up, going over to the small window where she could see into the kitchen and asked for some water.

She walked back, sitting down at her table, nursing her drink. Her eyes flickered to the sound of heavy stomping coming down the stairs. She saw Sandor, in his black jerkin and shirt. There was a rip on the shoulder. She'd have to mend that. He looked so handsome in that jerkin… She smiled warmly at him.

"How's Arya?" she asked.

"She wants to, and I quote, "Ram a fucking stick up my arse and out my disgusting mouth and laugh as I choke on it."

Sansa was astonished. How could such a sentence come from her sister! Then again… "And that was exactly what she said?"

"Think me a liar?"

"N-no. I'm just…shocked."

"Course you are, Little bird. Why'm I not surprised?"

Sansa didn't respond for a bit. He was always a bit rough, but his tone wasn't too bad. He seemed more tired than anything. "How'd you get her back?"

"Knocked her out." He shrugged, like it wasn't an issue.

"You hit her?" Sansa asked, her mouth open in shock.

"Tell me, would you rather me come back without all my fingers or with them?" He showed her his hand. There were teeth marks and clawing. It was like an animal attack.

"She did this?"

"Aye," he responded, nodding. Sansa took his hands in hers, running her fingers delicately over the wounds.

"We need to clean these," she said.

"Eat first. I'll deal with them later. It's only your sister anyway."

"Exactly, thus you should be worried," Sansa joked.

They shared a quiet laugh before Sansa was served her food. She thanked the server and slowly began to nibble on her food.

Everything he did, he had a reason for it. That's how Sansa felt. If he killed, there was a reason. He killed that knight to impress Joffrey, he killed those men to protect her and Arya. Even back at King's Landing, he'd killed for her. She smiled to herself, breaking a part of her biscuit and offering it to Sandor. He smiled his small, crooked smile before taking it.

Yes, he had a reason to kill. It didn't make him a bad person. He was good to her in his own way, and that's as far as Sansa was willing to push it.

Song: Endlessly by Muse