The peace that Sansa had helped create was shortlived. Almost as soon as little Moyra was smiling again, Lancel Lannister had burst into the room, covered in blood and reeking of smoke. He had spoken quickly and quietly with the queen, but all the women were listening as he confirmed their fears. The battle was lost. As the drunk queen knocked Sir Lancel to the ground and fled the room, the women in the room descended into chaos and there was nothing Sansa could do. Her eyes slid to Sir Illyn Payne and she remembered Cersei's words when they had first been shut away. That he was there for them. She stood swiftly and moved to Chella, who had been steadily drinking with the guards, angry that she was not allowed in the battle.

"Chella, we must go," she whispered urgently. "I don't trust my safety here."

The woman nodded immediately, glad to finally see some action. "The little lord said to take you to your chambers and barr the door should anything happen. We must move swiftly."

She barreled her way through the guards haphazardly trying to keep them in the room, not listening to their protests. The halls of the keep were mostly abandoned, though they did pass a servant or two, obviously looting from the castle. Chella ignored all of them as she hustled Sansa through. They quickly made their way to Sansa's door and she slipped inside. After a bit of pressuring, Chella followed her into the room. Sansa had argued that Stannis' men would quickly cut her down if they saw her outside, but barred in the room with her charge, she would stand a better chance of both surviving and protecting Sansa. That and the time would pass so much quicker with company.

They had only been there for a moment, when the door was tested by someone out in the hall. Sansa felt fear grip her as the door struggled against it's locks. Chella was rising from her seat, gripping her axe, ready to fight, when a voice rang out.

"Are you in there, little bird?"

Sansa placed a hand on Chella's arm, halting her. "Sandor?" she called through the door, hesitant to open it before she knew what was on the other side.

"Aye little bird, it's me."

With a disapproving look from her guardian, she undid the bolt from the door and cracked it open just wide enough to glimpse the broken man on the other side. Sandor was fierce even perfectly clean with his wild scars, but covered in blood and soot, drunken as she'd ever seen him, and with a crazed look in his eye, the Hound was truly fearsome. Yet Sansa still let the door fall open. She knew she was safe.

Sandor snorted at the sight of the clans woman, axe in hand, standing right behind her. "Seems you got a dog of your own now, little bird. Trust her, do you?"

Sansa smiled towards Chella before nodding. "I do."

Sandor grunted before addressing Chella "Can I speak to her? For a just a moment? You could be right outside."

Chella looked ready to argue, but Sansa stopped her again, looking up at her pleadingly. She didn't know what the Hound wanted, but she knew that the man had never hurt her. He had done his best to look out for her while they had both been under that tyrant, Joffrey. Whatever he wanted to say to her, he deserved to say it. And Chella would be right there if she was needed. Reluctantly, Chella stepped outside and let Sandor enter. "If you need anything, Lady Sansa, just scream. I can take this wounded dog on his best day, let alone now."

Sandor snorted at that and limped into the room. "The bitch is right, little bird. My fighting days are done for. Can't well be the Lannister's dog if I can't bite. I'll be going now. Might be headed North. Had half a mind to take you with me, but I doubt your woman will let me steal you."

Although Sandor's words held no threat, Sansa was instantly thankful for Chella's presence. She doubted that Sandor would ever truly force her, but she was glad she wouldn't have to find out. Not that the thought of someone taking her home was so abhorrent, but if news was true, it might be unnecessary. If Stannis won the battle, he wouldn't harm her. If the Lannister's prevailed...well she had heard from the queen's own lips that she would be better protected.

"So I have come here to settle a debt instead. I was owed a song, little bird. I've come to collect." He then collapsed onto the bed, sitting there looking utterly defeated. "Florian and Jonquil, I believe it was" he muttered drunkenly.

Sansa moved to the small window, turning her back to the man and looking out over the bay. As far as she could see there was death. Burning wreckage of ships, thick black smoke, and the sounds of dying men. Unbidden, The Mother's Hymn flew from her lips. Her voice was slow and sad as the song drifted back to the Hound and by the time she finished, she saw thick tears rolling down his cheek. Her own eyes started to water as she stared at this broken, dishevelled man. He had been shunned and kicked around his whole life-shown nothing but disgust and hatred from everyone. She reached out and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, ignoring the sticky blood that covered the armour there. He looked up at her and they shared a moment of compassion. Two people who had been beaten by the truth of the world. He then rose and without a word, ripped the stained white cloak from his shoulders. Tenderly, for a man his size, her draped it over her shoulders, just like he had in the throne room those days ago. He left without a backwards glance at her, leaving her alone in her rooms. She sent a prayer to the Mother to watch over Sandor Clegane, where ever life ended up taking him.

...

It was over. He was dead. His face was sunk into the mud and blood was running down his cheeks. He reached out feebly to Pod. The boy had saved him from an even bloodier death. Balon Swann, that cursed man had taken a spear to the head after he had slashed at the dwarf. Tyrion was only happy that he had seen the man dead before he himself slipped away from the world. He took his last moments of eye sight to survey his surroundings. It's not that the men he had propelled into battle were not fierce enough. He had been proud to see the soldiers meet Stannis' trained men with fervor. They had just been vastly outnumbered. Now they were dying all around him, laying in their own blood. Tyrion grasped his squires hand, thanking him for his unendingly loyal service. Just as the black started to close in on him, he heard the sounds of trumpeting war horns.