"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the she-wolf sitting across the table from him. Sansa had made excuses about feeling ill and had weaseled her way out of the evening meal. Rickon and Jon hosted Lords Tallhart and Hornwood on the dais, but Arya had joined him below the salt. It was nothing new for her to sit with him as she did so about every other day. When Winterfell was not hosting guests, Sandor wasn't expected to stand behind Sansa during the meal and could eat with everyone else. Since Sansa was hiding away in her chambers, Sandor had sat down to eat in the hall rather than take his meal in his room after the food had gone cold.

Arya, predictably, had taken a seat across from him. But she'd also been acting odd, even for her. She'd always been talkative, save for those few months that she'd spent readjusting to life at Winterfell, but now she was talking an awful lot about the visiting lords. She must have seen his irritation in his expression when she demanded why he was looking at her strangely.

"What do you care about the little lords?" He sneered at her, helping himself to another cup of watered down ale.

"I don't," Arya snapped, clutching her bread so tightly in her fist that he thought she might throw it at him.

"You've been talking about them all through supper," he reminded her. He hadn't listened to most of it and certainly couldn't repeat back to her everything she'd been saying, but he was aggravated and wanted her to shut up about them. "What is it, she-wolf? Worried you might have missed your chance to marry? There are two of them. I'm sure your lady sister will share."

The bread Arya had been holding hit his head with a dull thunk and splattered into his soup bowl. He growled at her, but she just scowled back. "I'd rather die than marry one of those idiots!"

So dramatic. "Then what's all this talk about them?"

Arya's eyes slid back up to the dais and narrowed in the general direction of Lords Hornwood and Tallhart. "They're not bad men, but they're making Sansa miserable. If there were anything to be done to make them go away…"

"Seven hells, you sound like her," Sandor grumbled. "What do you care if Sansa has suitors?"

"She's my sister, isn't she?"

He gave her a hard look. "Aye, she's your sister. And you've done your part to terrorize her. What's a couple of suitors compared to the shit you've done?"

"Hey!" Arya protested. "Everything I've done was all in good fun…"

"Putting shit in her pillow?"

Arya scoffed, "That was just a childish prank…"

"And ordering your wolf to attack her fiancé?"

"FIRST of all, Joffrey deserved that; SECOND, I did not tell Nymeria to…"

"Screaming that you hated her?"

"I screamed that I hated you as well," Arya sniffed indignantly. "And we're friends now, so…"

"You mean to tell me that you're worried about Sansa because men want to marry her?" Even he could hear the incredulity in his voice. He just couldn't believe that the she-wolf was so torn up about her sister's problem.

"Sansa does not have a pristine history when it comes to betrothals," Arya said matter-of-factly.

"No," Sandor allowed. "But she's in her home now with Lord Stark, and Lord Snow, and yourself. She doesn't have to entertain these cunts." He shot a glare in the general direction of the high table. "It's Sansa's own fault that she doesn't tell the lads to bugger off."

"She would never do that," Arya said. "You could scare them off for her though."

He snorted into his cup, narrowly avoiding spatting ale across the table at Arya. "Aye, Lady Stark would be overjoyed if I threatened a couple of Northern lords."

Arya propped her elbows on the table and dropped her chin in her hands, somehow looking both sullen and thoughtful. "Sansa is too nice, too ladylike, to tell anyone to bugger off. You know that. And I know that she wouldn't approve of you scaring them off, though it'd be effective." Arya sighed, her eyes shifting back to the high table. "If only there was something to make her less attractive."

"There's not," Sandor rasped. Had he not had a similar conversation with his little bird the night prior? He glared up at Arya. "What have you two been talking about?"

Arya blinked innocently and sat up straight. "What do you mean?"

"Sansa wants to repel these cunts, you wonder how to make her less attractive," he shook his head in disbelief. "The both of you should know it's not possible. I may be a brute, but I'm no fool. I know you two have spoken."

"Of course we have," Arya admitted easily, sitting back in her chair. "We talked about what she could do, including telling them to bugger off."

"That's the only thing she can do," Sandor said with finality, ready for this useless conversation to be done with. "That, or marry one of them. Or marry someone else."

Arya ignored his reasoning. "If she'd had children with Tyrion, perhaps they would leave her be. Or if Harrold Hardyng had managed to bed her…"

A growl escaped Sandor before he could stop it and Arya stopped talking, looking at him curiously. He took a quick drink of ale, then said, "They didn't deserve her."

"What if Larence Hornwood or Beren Tallhart are similarly undeserving?"

Sandor shrugged his massive shoulders. "They aren't married to her, nor do they have to be."

This time, the growl came from Arya. "Do you not realize that, even if she manages to run off these two, that there will be others?"

"So eventually she will choose one," Sandor said, trying to ignore the bitter taste it left in his mouth to say those words. "She'll find a pretty little lord she likes and that will be the end of it."

"And what if she doesn't want some pretty little lord?" Sandor met her eyes again at the strange tone of her voice. "Or what if she would rather lie with a man because it's what she wants rather than what is expected of her?"

Sandor was confused and angry. For one, it sounded more like Arya was speaking of herself rather than Sansa. As far as he knew, the little bird was above base desires like lust. But also, he did not like thinking about a wanton Sansa lusting after every man she saw. He wondered if Arya was being truthful, if Sansa did desire someone for something other than marriage, and found that whoever the poor fucker might be, Sandor wanted to break his face just for existing.

"The little bird isn't lusting after anyone," Sandor said, hoping he was right in his assessment. He felt that he would be one of the first to notice if she did indeed want someone. "All this bollocks about Lady Sansa lying with a man is a waste of breath. You and I both know she would never stoop so low as to…" Arya's eyes narrowed and Sandor had to fight back a smirk.

"Stoop so low, eh?"

He rolled his eyes at her glare, showing her just how concerned he was with her anger. "You aren't offended for true, wolf-bitch. I know you better."

Arya had made no secret of the fact that she had a lover and Sandor doubted very seriously that his words had wounded her in any way. But there was something in her expression he couldn't quite interpret. Finally, she said, "You don't think less of me for what I have with Gendry. Why would you think less of Sansa if she entered into a similar arrangement?"

Ah, he thought, the outrage wasn't for herself, but for her sister. Arya was a study in contradictions. When he'd known her as a child, she'd been driven by emotion, mostly anger, but still…her emotions had steered many of her decisions as a child, he knew. And while Arya had returned to Westeros a different woman, there were still hints of that emotional child. She may have worn a calm, cool, unfeeling mask for the world, but Sandor understood that deep down, Arya was still emotionally driven. For one, logic dictated that Sansa should marry, and if Arya had truly been logic-driven, more like her brother Jon, then she would have seen the sense in Sansa marrying one of these lords. But the little she-wolf was resistant to the idea for several reasons, one being that Sansa was clearly miserable at the prospect of marrying someone she felt nothing for, and another being that Arya had made an emotionally-based decision when she chose to lie with her blacksmith. She wasn't so different from the girl he'd known, only now she had more than anger to motivate her; now she had love.

Sandor snorted into his cup at his train of thought. He knew next to nothing about love, especially for one's sibling, but he could recognize it in other people most of the time. And Arya loved Sansa, likely more than she loved, excluding Gendry and that bastard brother of hers, so it was clear to Sandor why Arya felt so passionately about Sansa's situation. Arya was watching him expectantly, probably waiting for an answer.

"Nothing would make me think less of your sister," he told her. "But she isn't you."

Sansa, who had always adored stories of love and romance, had learned the hard way that she couldn't follow her heart. Out of the two sisters, it was clear to Sandor that Sansa would be the one less likely to get caught up in the excitement of a potential romance. She certainly wouldn't hop into bed with the first lad who turned her head, which was what seemed to happen with Arya. And he told her as much.

"You know her as well as I do," he said. "The little bird isn't going to lie down with someone just because he has a pretty face, not after Joffrey. If Sansa ever chooses to lie with someone who isn't her husband, it will be because…" He couldn't finish it. It was ridiculous. The Hound speaking of love, what a terrible jape, he thought, but Arya seemed to understand what he was saying.

"She'll only bed someone who isn't her husband if she's in love," she said quietly.

"Aye," Sandor grumbled, desperately wanting to be done with this conversation. "So forget your little plan and tell Lady Sansa to abandon it as well." Arya's eyes widened minutely and Sandor gave her an ugly smirk. "I'm no fool, she-wolf. As I said, I know the two of you talk and I know the two of you likely came up with this bloody awful strategy and thought yourselves clever. Abandon it, she-wolf. Sansa will never go through with it anyway."

He stood from the bench and gave a nod to Arya, who was still looking a bit sullen about his chastisement. He left the Great Hall and stepped out into the bailey, the chill of the night air making him wish he had a heavier cloak. He made his way across the yard, headed to check on Stranger, when movement at the entrance to the Godswood caught his attention. He stopped and watched the figure slip by and disappear into the darkness.

Little bird, you aren't as sneaky as you wish to be. He followed after her, knowing that she likely wanted privacy again, but unwilling to let her wander around alone when there were too many outsiders staying within the walls. She dropped the hood of her cloak when she reached the Heart Tree, exposing that copper-colored hair he was so fond of, and taking a seat by one of the heated pools. He was quiet, as always, as he approached her, but she wasn't startled this time when he came upon her as she had been the previous day.

"How was the evening meal?" She asked quietly without looking at him.

He crouched down by her side, looking down into the hot spring at their reflections, side by side. He quickly looked away again, unable to handle looking at the perfection that was Sansa seated next to his monstrous visage.

"Fine," he rasped. "I'm sure you wanted privacy, little bird, but you know I can't let you wander around on your own when there are so many outsiders staying at Winterfell."

She nodded in understanding, but still looked sad. He didn't have to ask why, just as he didn't have to ask if she had really felt unwell enough to skip the evening meal. Part of him felt bad for her, wanted to take away her suffering, but another part, the old part, grew frustrated with her for stressing about a situation which she had full control over. It was her own fault that she was so miserable. Her bloody courtesy was the main thing keeping her from telling her suitors to bugger off and leave her alone. Her problem was one that only she could solve.

"Spoke with the she-wolf," he said, sliding his eyes to her face to gauge her reaction. He watched as a blush crept up her pale cheeks. You blush so prettily, little bird.

"You speak with her often," Sansa said, her voice higher than normal, indicating that she must have known that her sister and her sworn shield hadn't spoken of the normal things.

"She hinted that the two of you were trying to come up with a plan to get rid of your lordly friends."

Her eyes squeezed shut and, though Sandor wouldn't have thought it possible, she turned a deeper shade of red, flushing down her neck and lower…

"What did she tell you?" Sansa squeaked, her eyes still closed.

This part would need to be handled with delicacy, Sandor knew. Speaking to a lady of her maidenhead was not strictly appropriate, not that he cared what was appropriate, but he didn't want to make Sansa uncomfortable.

"Finding some random lad to rid you of your maidenhead won't change things the way you hope," he told her. "Aye, you'll no longer be a maiden, but you'll still have suitors. Just because you lie with a man doesn't mean people are going to notice the difference. You can't tell whether or not you're a maiden just by walking around in the light of day knowing you've done it."

Sansa sighed heavily and shook her head, looking so discouraged. "I had thought to…damage my reputation a bit as well – to make sure that everyone knew what I had done." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, then quietly added, "And who says it was going to be someone random?"

The idea was laughable. Sandor wasn't sure what was more amusing: the thought of Sansa running around acting like a wanton woman or the thought that the two Stark girls had believed that this plan might work. He supposed it was a testament to how desperate the both of them were that they believed that it would work.

"I know you think me foolish," Sansa said with a hint of petulance detectable in her voice.

He did think she was foolish, but he wouldn't say that to her, not now, after all she'd been through. He'd have surely told her years ago what an idiotic idea it was, but now he was gentler, if only with her, so he said, "Desperate, little bird. I think you are desperate."

"A desperate fool then," Sansa pouted and he had to bite down a laugh. She knew him well.

"Aye, alright, it was desperate and foolish. As I said, it wouldn't change anything."

Sansa dragged her fingers through the warm water below her, disrupting her reflection. "I don't know what I'm more upset about," she said, watching her fingers glide through the surface of the pool. "I'm angry that Jon won't turn them away. I'm angrier that I haven't turned them away. I'm angry that I'm only attractive to them because I'm still Ned Stark's maiden daughter…"

Sandor cut in, "That's not the only reason you're attractive to them, Sansa."

She carried on, shooting him a glare as she continued, "I'm angry that a scrap of skin between my legs means more than what I want. I'm angry that I feel like I have very little control over what I want."

"And what's that?" Sandor asked her, more to humor her than anything else. When he looked over at her, he was startled to see tears gathering in her eyes.

"It doesn't matter, does it? Not truly. I want what I've always wanted and that makes me angry too!" She pulled her hand from the water and covered her face. Her voice was muffled, but he could still hear her as she told him. "I want love. It doesn't even have to be like the love from a song, just something real. But I'll never have it. Even if I marry Beren Tallhart or Larence Hornwood, there's no way I'll ever love them."

Sandor scoffed, "You can't know that."

"And why not?" Sansa snapped, uncovering her face to reveal angry tears. "Perhaps I am wrong, but I think that if I was meant to love one of those men that I would have felt something. Perhaps I would not have felt love immediately, but surely there would have been some spark, something more than the fear of being trapped again! Arya has someone to love, why should I not be able to experience it too?"

Sandor didn't know what to say to that, didn't know how to comfort her. He wished he had pretty words that would make her feel better, but that had never been him. He gave her truths, hard truths, and that's what he gave her now. "Not everyone gets to love, little bird," he said, feeling strange for even saying the word.

He watched her face crumple as tears coursed down her cheeks. Her body shuddered with sobs and he hated himself for hurting her. There was nothing else he could have told her though. If anyone deserved a love like the songs, it was Sansa Stark. He laid a heavy hand on her trembling shoulder awkwardly, though he knew it brought her no comfort.

"The world is awful, isn't that what you told me?" She sniffed, turning red eyes up to look at him.

"It doesn't have to be awful," he said gruffly. "Not now. You're home. You have your brothers and sister. Aye, it's not perfect, but there's been worse."

She nodded her head and wiped at her eyes. She began to stand up, so Sandor quickly stood as well so that he could help her. She dusted the dirt from her skirts and then took a deep breath. "I suppose you're escorting me to my chambers now?"

"Only if you're ready," he said.

She gave a nod and he held out his arm for her to take it. There were moments when he wished he was gentler, that he could offer words of comfort even when he knew that they were bollocks. This was one of those times. Seeing her distressed caused him physical pain and he knew that he wasn't likely to get any sleep that night.