A/N: I started and deleted this chapter about three or four times. The last chapter makes the timeline a little wonky, so apologies for that. Also, I have a feeling you all are going to hate me by the end, so I apologize ahead of time. A shorter chapter, but it's an important one.

Chapter 11

Varys

He was not sure what to make of Sansa Stark and the Hound. Sure, his Little Birds had whispered every time Clegane had broken his leash and rescued Ned Stark's daughter. On the battlements, the bread riots, and of course he'd been in the courtroom when he'd cloaked her.

Still, it made him uneasy. He could never fully trust Daenerys Targaryen to not follow in her father's footsteps. She'd proven her ruthlessness in Slaver's Bay and again when she'd torched the Tarlys. While the idea of condoning an incestual relationship between Daenerys and Jon Snow made his stomach turn, he hoped that the blood of the Starks would carry their sense of honor and level-headedness with it.

With stability in the Red Keep, that left Sansa Stark as the Lady of Winterfell among all the other Great Houses that were in disarray. The Northern lords would follow Ned Stark's trueborn daughter without question as they had when they had won back Winterfell, but that would only continue with a good Northern husband for her. One of the Glovers perhaps, or the pardoned Ser Jorah Mormont, the rightful Lord of Bear Island. Or solidify the North's ties with the Vale with her cousin the young Lord Arryn.

And yet… perhaps uniting North and West was not such a terrible idea for the realm. Lord Tyrion was of course still making vague attempts at reclaiming his former wife, but renewing Lady Stark's marriage with a Lannister would not bring peace. The Northern lords would rage and bluster, and it would incite Cersei's rage for certain.

No… Clegane was exactly the kind of Southerner the Northerners might just accept. But how to make sure it happened…

Sandor

Seven hells, he had fucked up.

The Little Bird was curled up in a ball whimpering into his chest.

How could he have been such an idiot?! She was a lady. Of course she would never have wanted to be rutted from behind like some common whore. And if he had taken her that way…

Sandor raged internally at the thought. How could any man not want to look upon her beauty? Of course he would just as likely kill any other man who looked at her as he did. To fuck her like a tavern wench was criminal. He was disgusted with himself.

Of course he'd had his share of women at Casterly Rock and in King's Landing. He hadn't cared when Lannister gold had jingled in his purse. A clean and willing whore was all he required. All the better if she didn't look at his face, and he didn't have to see her fake, "oh's".

All that had changed the night of the Blackwater. He hadn't entered a brothel in years. Hells, he'd been living almost as clean as a septon the last few years.

He should've known it was too good to be true when she'd asked him to stay the previous night. He would end it tomorrow, tuck tail, and leave. Sansa Stark deserved much better than a common Dog.

Until then he would relish in holding her to his chest, attempting to ease her to sleep. Her breathing had slowed, so she must be almost asleep.

"Sandor?" a muffled voice called from between his nipples.

"Mph?" he grunted, indicating he was still awake.

"Why do men get so much pleasure out of taking women from behind?" she asked, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

He took a long pause before answering, carefully measuring his words.

"Makes 'em feel powerful, I suppose," he rasped.

"And you?" she asked.

Fuck, he thought. This was a trap. Wicked girl.

He thought for a long time before he finally spoke.

"The brothel wenches never wanted to look upon this old, ugly mug," he growled, eyeing her carefully.

She softened, seeming to accept his answer.

"You're not that old," she gave a small smile.

He chuckled. "I've had 34 name days. I was a man by the time you were born."

"Hardly," she laughed. "A boy of 14 is no man."

His brow furrowed. "I'd already had my first kill by then."

"At 14 I'd lost both my parents and been beaten and humiliated," she said softly.

He stroked her cheek. "I remember," he whispered.

"Still," he continued, "Other men my age have been married half their lives and have a whole pack of children."

He had never considered a life of a wife and children. All he knew was soldiering.

"Isn't the right person worth the wait?" she asked, drawing him in with her sparkling blue eyes.

"Sansa…" he said, avoiding her gaze.

"Please?" her eyes pleaded with him. "Forget your past. Take my name and start anew."

He sighed. If there weren't a million issues standing between them, he would wed her and bed her this moment. But she was a lady and he a dog.

He sat up and turned his back to her. His head was much clearer without her face to draw him in.

"I can't forget my past," he rasped. "You deserve better than the likes of me. A fancy lord, a knight, a prince. Not the second son of the son of a kennel master."

That's it, he thought, remind her of the Dog you are.

"You.. stupid…" she said through fresh tears, "I don't want a fancy lord. I want YOU!"

"You don't know what you want," he said quietly, standing to retrieve his dropped clothes.

"To the Seven Hells I don't!" she shouted at his back as he put on his breeches. "I'm not a child anymore, Sandor. That little girl got left behind in King's Landing when I left with Littlefinger."

He had no words for her. Her words cut like knives, but it was better he break her heart now than have her wake up years later full of regret and his child in her womb. He slipped on his tunic. His boots followed.

He was knotting his belt before she broke the silence.

"I thought you were different," she whispered.

His shoulders slumped. "Me too, Little Bird."

Jon

It had been days since Bran and Sam had uncovered the truth about his parentage. He'd tried to focus on the task at hand. The Night King was coming, and they needed to be ready.

He just wasn't sure if he was ready to reveal his roots to the entire North. Dany supported him. She would stand beside him as his aunt and liege. Arya was cautious, secretive even. Bran didn't say much either, whether it was necessary for their success or would doom them, he wouldn't say. Davos and Tyrion Lannister warned against it. Varys the Spider said nothing and simply watched. Sansa…

She'd been distracted of late. That much was clear to him. She'd barely said two coherent words over the last day. And Clegane was always at her heel, following her everywhere…

Jon shook his head. Surely Sansa was just overwhelmed with the responsibilities of being Lady of Winterfell while he was a King to some and Lord and Warden to others. Keeping his roles straight made his head hurt.

The rest of Winterfell had gone to bed, but Jon found that he could not. He was still sitting in his desk in the solar hours after his siblings had gone to bed.

A knock sounded at the heavy wooden door.

"Enter," he answered.

The Spider glided into the solar.

"My Lord Snow," he simpered, "A moment of your time if I may."

"Lord Varys," Jon said, standing and offering the Spider a chair by the fire.

"So much like your father, Lord Eddard, and yet…" the Spider paused. "My little birds tell me otherwise."

Jon looked at him darkly. He knew little of Lord Varys, only that he's been hiding in the shadows of the Red Keep for years and had suddenly turned up in Essos at Queen Daenerys's side after Tyrion Lannister's trial for the death of Joffrey. What could the Spider want with him.

"What can I help you with, my lord?" Jon asked in his thick Northern accent.

"Oh, I believe it is I who will be helping you," the Spider smiled.

Jon narrowed his eyes. "Go on," he said.

"My little birds have whispered that one Sandor Clegane, once called "The Hound" has been spending an inordinate amount of time with your sister, Lady Sansa," Varys said in his strange, foreign accent.

"What of it?" Jon asked. "He is her shield until Lady Brienne returns."

"Ohh, my little birds in the Riverlands tell me that may not be for some time," Varys' eyes glinted.

Jon frowned. Sansa had mentioned that Brienne was delayed and would be returning North as soon as she could. She hadn't said what kept her lady knight.

Lord Varys coughed. "My little birds tell me, my lord, that Clegane is not staying at his post come dark."

Jon's knuckles whitened on the armrests of his chair. He'd trusted Clegane to keep Sansa safe…

"Not to worry, my lord," the Spider smiled. "Lady Sansa herself seems content. I visited with her this morning."

Jon sighed, "Lady Sansa is a woman grown and free to make her own choices."

"Of course, my lord," Varys said. "Though I hope you would consider who your heir attaches herself to."

Jon paused. No, he had promised Sansa he would not choose for her as others had, especially now that his own parentage was murky.

"Clegane is a good fighter, and the men seem to respect him," Jon said with finality.

"Oh, I don't need my birds to know that," Varys rose. "Though my birds tell me the traitor of the Blackwater may try to tuck tail and run once more."

Jon glowered. He measured his next words carefully. "Thank you, my lord." He paused. "Though I still wonder who you serve."

"The realm, my lord." With that, Varys bowed and glided from the solar.

Jon slumped in his chair. If Clegane was such a coward that he fled tonight, there was no chance of catching him. He wouldn't waste the manpower. But if he was still in Winterfell on the morrow… Old and New Gods help him.

A/N: I'm soooo sorry, lovelies! You made it through though! I promise our Sandor will figure shit out before too long. Stick with me!