A/N: I really wanted to have a chance to show what Sansa is thinking, so here it is! Sorry this came out a little later than normal, but a family dinner called me away. This chapter is dedicated to my mom…happy birthday! I do not own any characters except for Borin. Thanks to all of you for following and reviewing.

"Lord Stark, we will stay behind to ensure you and the Lady Sansa are not followed. Thank the Gods the Hound was here. Now quickly, go before you are discovered," Borin urged.

The small group of people did not hesitate and they quickly began to run in the opposite direction of where the Gold Cloaks had come from. Sandor's leg began to throb and he winced with pain whenever he put pressure on it. I definitely know I have had worse. He knew every ounce of pain was worth protecting his Little Bird. Sansa. She was running in front of him and he suddenly saw that her Tully red hair had come out of its bird nest and was loose around her shoulders. I bet it would feel soft, like the silks those silly women of the court like to wear.

Sandor had never held any respect for them as they were all the same. He felt that everyone in the capital was petty, cruel, and looking out only for themselves. But not her. After serving the Lannisters for years, Sandor had never seen anyone come through the capital quite like Sansa. To him, she didn't have a cruel bone in her body and treated everyone kindly and with respect. Even me. That thought drew Sandor back to the present and he checked behind him to ensure no one else graced this particular alleyway. Borin was unknown to him and certainly not to be trusted as of yet.

The wounded leg was starting to become a little stiff, so Sandor's arm sought the wall to balance himself once again, which also made him fall slightly behind. He let out a small moan, realizing the second wound was on the underside of the outstretched arm. Sansa heard the cry, small and quiet as it was, and pulled Ned to a stop. Not hearing the pat pat pat of their shoes against stone, reassuring him he was still being followed, Varys turned around and loudly whispered to the group, "We cannot afford to stop again. My friends, we must make haste."

"Please my Lord," Sansa pleaded, "can we move a little slower? Sandor is wounded and cannot keep up with such a pace."

Damn, the Little Bird heard me. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about me. Stay close to your father girl." Sandor wasn't quite sure what happened, but Sansa stepped towards him and took the hand that had been holding him steady, but had since fallen limply to his side. Ned began to grumble a protest, but Varys stilled him by placing a hand on his shoulder. She began to tug on Sandor's hand gently, attempting to coerce him into moving forward. He gave in and the small band of people continued.

Sandor, always aware of his surroundings, ensured this time was no different. He was frequently glancing back to ensure they were not being followed. Whenever they passed a window high above them, he checked there wasn't a face peeping out at them. Occasionally, Sansa would look back at him, as if to ensure he was still there even though she was still holding his hand. Sandor struggled to ignore it, but the heat that radiated from that simple touch proved to be quite a distraction. Seven Hells, I am acting like a green boy.

Sansa was pleased that Sandor had allowed her to take his hand. She felt funny leading the fierce man through the winding alleys. No one would believe me back home! When he wasn't looking behind him, Sansa noticed that his gaze frequently fell on her. The hard lines of his face grew softer and somehow, more calm. The poor man.

She remembered the story Littlefinger had told her about how the Hound had acquired his scars. Hearing what the other ladies at court said about her only friend in Kings Landing and seeing how he was treated by others, Sansa knew Sandor had been shown little affection in his life. After Sandor had promised to help her, she prayed night after night that he would know he had a friend. During those sleepless nights, Sansa would spend hours embroidering a handkerchief for him by candlelight, hoping that the small gift would bring some warmth to his heart.

He seemed to be pleased with it. That night seemed a lifetime ago. Never had Sansa imagined that she would be running for her life through the alleys of Kings Landing hand in hand with the Hound. Lost in her thoughts, Sansa almost ran into Ned not having realized that Varys had stopped in front of a bolted door.

"This is where we will enter the Red Keep. Stay close as there are many tunnels where you can become lost and never found again. Once inside, we will have several more doors to go through and then you will be safe until night falls. I will leave you three hidden and go to gather your things and ensure no one suspects anything."

The rest of the short journey was conducted in silence, no one wishing for their voices to echo off of the walls. Sansa's delicate slippers were beginning to split apart, but she dare not say a word. If she was grateful for anything in her life over the past of months, it was to acknowledge that her ideas of handsome knights and their beautiful ladies were naught but a dream. Something that songs were made of.

Sansa could see Joffrey's face as he had Ser Meryn beat her. Her golden prince had been nothing but an illusion and Sansa was disgusted at herself for ever caring for him. More importantly, she felt ashamed that she had not listened to her father. Why didn't I listen to him? The question frequently came to mind and she would dwell on it late into the night during those times he was imprisoned.

The other knights had not come to her rescue. They ignored her bruises and bleeding face and continued on as if it was normal. The only one who had even tried to help was Sandor. My true friend. Sansa had heard him that first night, beating on the door as Ser Meryn dragged her to the ground and kicked her. Meryn was distracted and Joffrey was having too good of a time to have noticed the wood door creaking as Sandor tried to break in.

Even though he could not help her, Sandor always managed to make sure she got back to her rooms safely. He may never know it, but that small gesture meant the world to me. She felt safe in his presence and even now, when they had everything to lose, Sansa knew things would turn out alright.

Sansa peeked behind her once more as they passed a lit torch and smiled when she caught Sandor's eye. He winked at her then nodded his head, gesturing her to keep going. Their hands were still together and she gave his a tiny squeeze. Before she could turn away, Sansa saw him briefly tense up, but the small grin on his face made the dark tunnel light up. It was a rare sight to see the Hound smile.

He may not be a knight, but he saved me all the same. The smile he had just given her played in her mind. Sandor is handsome in his own way, but has an inner beauty none of the others possess.