Author Note:

I want to take a moment and thank everyone for the kind reviews, favourites and follows. I am so glad people are enjoying this!

Here we go again with the challenge of keeping these characters as true as possible. Bitterness and tension are a given.

Silence. The next few days carried on as if nothing had happened, and were quieter than usual. Sansa felt like the quiet was weighing her down, even days after it began. She knew it stemmed from their shared intimacy a few nights ago. Her heart ached every time she thought of it. The Hound had an edge to him the next morning, and he had kept it every day and night since. Now they rode away from the river, only stopping when they found a small pond or puddles of water for the horses. The heat of the day was making Sansa pant. Her wool dress was heavy on her shoulders, the fabric itching and clinging to her. She had thought it was a good idea since the nights were growing colder the further North they traveled, but the sun was still persistent during the day. The Hound didn't seem to notice, never shedding his armor as they rode, never looking particularly uncomfortable. Of course his discomfort became written across his features the moment Sansa spoke to him, or he had no choice but to speak to her.

The afternoon sun began setting as they found a very small body of water, only a few paces around. The horses eagerly trotted towards it. Sansa clumsily dismounted from Windstorm while the Hound easily hopped off of Stranger, giving the horse a firm pat on the neck before taking the sleeping blankets from the saddle and tossing them on a patch of lush grass a distance away from the water. Sansa reluctantly followed after speaking soft words to Windstorm, her only real company since the Hound had touched her.

"Stay here," he muttered when she walked over. He avoided looking at her. "I'll go get something to eat. Don't-

"Do anything stupid, I know." Sansa replied. The tension between them became thicker after she spoke. Reluctantly, she looked up and met his stare. He looked angry, intrigued, and more than anything, uncomfortable. She almost apologized, it was clearly hammered into her, but she stopped herself and continued to watch him.

"You're learning," he said with what almost looked like a smirk. Sansa's heart jumped just enough for her hopes to rise. They came crashing down the second he broke eye contact and stalked off into the forest.

When he left, Sansa set out the sleeping blankets. She put them beside one another, despite her better judgement. Then she stewed in her feelings, confusion being the most prominent. In King's Landing she could have sworn there was something between them. The constant looks, the interrogation in her bed chambers, the way he had never struck her, never betrayed her trust, never misguided her. And then, of course, his decision to steal her away, to save her. She had felt reassured when he wanted to touch her. His initial rejection made her question everything. Then when he gave into her, she was certain. He wants me and I want him, she had thought. Now after being tossed to the side once again, her heart ached with disappointment. She had been so sure of his desire to touch her, his need to feel her, and then it dissipated into the air. It rose up, higher and higher, until it vanished. Until the feeling was above the fiery red comet and out into the unknown.

She felt like a fool for being so uncertain. Tears ran down her cheeks as she remembered how he had touched her. It had started with anger, with a roughness that was only now beginning to fade on her pale skin. The bruises around her neck were now a pale yellow, nearly gone. The bite mark was still present, but unidentifiable to an outside eye. One indent remained, and the surrounding flesh simply looked deep red from irritation and healing. But after the initial rage, the gentleness had taken over. His hands had run over her body with gentle precision. He had known where to touch her, how to watch her, how to make her twist beneath him begging for more. She distinctly remembered his words, Open your mouth for me, little bird. Open your legs, little bird. I want to see you. Then she remembered him hesitating before he entered her. It was only his hands, but he had stopped and furrowed his brow. His hand had almost looked like it was shaking as he poised himself. She could have sworn he was having a great debate with himself. She had never seen the Hound hesitate or debate anything. The world was black and white to him. Sansa began to feel like a shade of gray. And she wasn't sure whether that gave her hope, or disappointed her even more.

She walked to the edge of the small pond, watching Stranger and Windstorm nuzzle each other affectionately. Even Stranger has a soft side. Sansa smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks, even though tears were staining her cheeks. She peered into the water at her reflection. The setting sun offered little light, but it was enough to see the grime in her hair. It looked a shade darker than usual. Her body felt like it was coated in a thick layer of oil. Neither of them had bathed since the last time they made camp near a river, and that was the night he touched her. That was days ago. Sansa wanted to wash everything away. She suddenly felt a strong urge to rub everything off of her skin. She wanted to walk naked into an open body of water and let it wash over her until she was clean. Clean of King's Landing, clean of her Father's death, clean of her missing sister, her family left behind, her brother battling for the North, her body being beaten, her mind being manipulated. She sobbed as she imagined nothing but bone being left after being cleansed. The filth she felt ran deep. The only thing that didn't make her feel filthy was his hands on her, which she knew was backwards. Shame should wash over her, but his hands, his voice, his protection of her body and soul was the only thing that brought her any sense of relief, any sense of hope for the future. And he doesn't even want me. Did he ever? Have I just been a bargaining tool? Did his touch mean nothing? The questions she asked herself stung, but she couldn't deny their validity. But remember his eyes. His eyes. Even though she felt like she was drowning in doubt and unanswerable questions, the memory of his eyes stirred something inside of her. The way he had looked down on her, at her core, at her pale flesh. Of course being used as a bargaining tool was realistic, perhaps even expected, but Sansa was growing certain that his eyes showed something else. I'll keep you safe.

Sansa wiped her face dry and sniffled the last of the hurt, determined to push forward. Stop thinking about it, she told herself. It was no use to fester the fresh wound. She heard rustling as she stood. The Hound appeared from the trees, looking more miserable than usual. His sword was unsheathed, glistening red. He carried a large brown bag and dropped it with a heavy thud next to Stranger. A cut went from his eye to the corner of his lip on the unburnt side of his face. Sansa instinctually stepped back, suddenly feeling frightened. Even though she knew he had never laid a hand on her with the intent to cause her harm, seeing the sword dripping crimson and his eyes screaming with anger sent her back.

"What happened?" Sansa asked watching him walk to the water, tossing the sword into the grass. He knelt down and splashed his face, hissing at the water seeping into the fresh cut.

"Your brother is a stupid boy," he answered while splashing his face again and again. He stood and shook his hair, shaking the rage off. "Off to make amends with Walder Frey. Fucking Freys."

Sansa's heart leapt at the word brother. "What has Robb done?"

"He got married," the Hound started, "to the wrong girl. Let his cock decide. I thought he was trying to win back the North, not fuck a cunt." He laughed blackly.

Sansa watched as he walked over to his sword, taking a square of fabric stained a dark brown and began running it over the blade, wiping it clean. "He'll win," Sansa said quietly, watching him with wide eyes.

He stopped halfway down the blade and looked up at her, his gaze unwavering for the first time in days. "If he survives the wrath of that old bugger." Sansa had heard her Mother speak of Walder Frey only once. She said he was a miserable old man with more sons, daughters and grandchildren than anyone could count. He outlived generation after generation and grew fouler with each passing year. Never trust Walder Frey, she had overheard her Mother say to her Father once a long time ago.

He continued working on the blade, the rag becoming noticeably wet with blood. "Who told you this?" Sansa felt as though she knew the answer. That was someone's blood he was wiping away.

He sheathed the clean sword and held the rag up to her. "Him," he grunted as he let it fall to the ground. It was heavy with blood and made a thud on a small rock.

Sansa wrinkled her nose. Her stomach threatened to flip. She kept remembering the night they escaped. The guards had dropped slowly, almost as if they were kneeling, as their bodies crumbled and oozed their life source all over the dirt. "You didn't have to kill him," Sansa said.

"What did I tell you about rats?" he began peeling off his armor, the tunic beneath soaked with sweat.

Sansa swallowed, the act of him undressing made her stomach flutter. "Dead ones don't squeak."

"You'll do good to remember that." The armor fell to the ground with a thud. He winced as he rolled the shoulder of his sword hand slowly.

Something inside of Sansa felt courageous for she spoke up and responded, "He may not have been a rat. You just enjoy hurting people, don't you?" her heart pounded as he looked at her. He then walked over and held her chin in his hand like he had many times before. This time she didn't feel frightened. This time her knees felt weak, not out of fear, but out of something different. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her spine felt like it was withering away. Her body suddenly became very hot. She was sure she was blushing.

"I enjoy killing people, little bird." He held her chin for a heartbeat longer before letting go and walking over to their blankets and placing his sword and armor on the grass. She wasn't surprised by his answer. He had told her this before. He had warned her of all the killers that were in her life now and would be in her future. She knew he was right. It didn't make the thought of him ending lives any easier to accept. And even worse than that, it didn't make the way he made her feel any dimmer. The fire he started in her only burned brighter the more he prodded it.

The bag he had dropped near the horses had wineskins and food inside. Sansa gathered that he had stolen it from the man he killed, but she didn't dare ask. Hearing that he had killed the man once was enough. Her stomach heaved at the thought of him slicing an innocent man into pieces. So instead of asking questions or even talking, they ate the bread and moldy cheese from the bag in silence. The sun set and the moon rose over the trees. The Hound had already emptied two of the four wineskins in the bag by the time Sansa had enough of the awkward silence and slipped away from the water's edge and to their blankets. She pulled her cloak up to her chin, watching as the Hound drank from the third skin sitting by the edge of the pond. He drank wine all the time in King's Landing. He drank more when he had to be with me. She wasn't sure what to think. But before she could think too much, she was asleep.

Joffrey. His hands were on her. She couldn't push him off. Her hands were bound to the bed, the sheets tied to the posts. Her wrists were burning from trying to escape, her body exhausted from writhing on the bed. She was crying, the tears running freely from her eyes, down her cheek, some stopping and entering her mouth. The salt was overwhelming, almost overpowering. Her legs kicked and her hips raised off the mattress to try and break free. She couldn't see him but she could feel him. She knew it was Joffrey. Small hands caressed her everywhere. She felt naked but when she looked down she was fully clothed, her corset tight around her bust. Her breasts threatened to spill out, her chest moving up and down with her breathing. Her core began to ache despite the disgust she felt as his hands squeezed her breasts and ran over her ribs. She recoiled as the invisible Joffrey found her center. Without warning her dress was bunched at her waist and no small clothes stopped his hands from finding her. The feeling was both exhilarating and petrifying. She still couldn't see Joffrey, but she knew it was him. It wasn't her imagination, someone was touching her. It felt good but she kept crying and screaming. Then her mouth was gagged, a cloth stuffed past her teeth, her throat being touched by fabric causing her to gag.

The woods surrounded her now. She wasn't bound. She was naked and standing beneath trees taller than any castle, even taller than The Wall. They towered over her casting shadows in the moonlight. The darkness was closing in. She heard a growl. Somewhere in the distance she saw two eyes. Red eyes. Then a puff of breath came from where the mouth was hiding in the cold darkness. Gooseflesh broke out over her ivory skin. She was shaking, her teeth chattering loudly. Before she could even react the wolf was on her. It was gold, but its eyes angry and red. Its teeth sank into her breasts, her stomach, and her arms. They even grazed her woman's place, the tongue coming out and lapping at her. She screamed.

Sansa sat up so quickly that her eyes went blurry. Her heart was beating quickly, her breathing faster yet. She looked beside her and saw the blankets empty. Panicked from the dream and the feeling of her heart racing she stood and wandered to the horses. The Hound was nowhere to be seen. The pond stood alone, the water smooth and unmoving. The horses were resting, Stranger undisturbed by Sansa walking in circles. She ran to the edge of the forest but stopped when she remembered the feeling of the wolf pouncing on her. Tears threatened to spill. She was overreacting, she knew it, but her body refused to settle until she found him. She had to know he was there. She had to know he didn't leave her with the wolves, she had to latch onto reality. She wasn't in King's Landing any longer. She had to see his face to remind her she was nowhere near Joffrey.

"What frightened the little bird?" he slurred his words. She spun and saw him on their blankets, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree.

Sansa's heart began to slow, her panic began melting away. He's here. We're far from King's Landing. After a moment of feeling calm, anger stirred. "Where were you?"

He laughed. "Drinking, little bird." Sansa stayed where she was, suddenly hesitant. "You're right to be afraid of me." He sounded very drunk. Sansa listened carefully as he drank more from the wineskin clutched in his hand. "A drunk dog is dangerous."

Sansa swallowed and began to walk slowly back towards the blankets. "You won't hurt me." She had said the words so many times that they came without a second thought.

He watched her carefully as she sat down next to him. "No, little bird." He paused, setting the wineskin aside. "But you do make it hard sometimes."

"You want to hurt me?" Sansa bit her lip.

He laughed loudly this time. "I want to fuck you, little bird. You don't make it easy for a dog like me."

Sansa is confused. Sandor is bitter. These two just keep circling one another. The tension is delicious as well as annoying. I am finding it challenging to write the next batch of mature content. It has to be believable. I am also trying to tie in events happening elsewhere, so bear with me. Reviews are fabulous.