Sandor came down to sit at a table that night, looking a lot less threatening than his first night. I took him his usual meal and he subtly touched my leg beneath the table. I smirked as I walked away, feeling his eyes on me. We stole glances at one another throughout the evening. It was as if he kept his gaze down at his mug until he caught sight of my skirts and would slowly pan his gaze up to my body until we met eyes.

Later on in the night, the crowd in the inn waned as people either made their way to their rooms or left. I saw a couple of merchants from Silverhill sit at Sandor's table to talk. He didn't look particularly upset, yet acted as he'd rather not be under their attention. The men on the other hand were rather cordial to him and seemed acquainted with him. His responses to them were gruff and short, even leveling terrible glares at them. The men were nonplussed, even showing amusement at his temperament. I served the trio a couple of ale jugs, curiously trying to catch a strain of conversation.

"Lot of good worshipping fucking Gods did to the lot of them," grumbled Sandor.

"Their sacrifices ultimately saved us, friend," said a graying older man. Sandor simply grunted into his mug in response.

"Say, love, can I get a chicken pie?" The younger brown-haired man on the other side of Sandor asked, playfully tugging my skirt. Sandor looked at him, his stare downright murderous.

"Only if you lay your paws on the chicken and not me," I quipped, pulling the skirt out of his grasp.

"Well, that depends. Which pie is tastier?" Retorted the man.

The older man cringed and chuckled into his hand, his cheeks turning red. I saw Sandor's hand tighten around his mug so that his knuckles turned white. For a moment I feared he would bash the younger man on the head with it.

I leveled a serious look at the brown-haired man, who was completely unaware of the potential danger he was in.

"Don't get me wrong, dove. Both are mouth-watering...but one might cause you loss of life or limb if you keep asking for it." I ended with a wink and a pointed glance at Sandor. I saw a hint of a smirk as he took a great swig of ale as he looked back at me.

The brown-haired man stared into his mug rather dejectedly.

"Just the chicken pie, then," he said, looking like a scolded child.

"Good choice."

Before I turned away to put the order in, I saw the older man patting Sandor on the shoulder with a big knowing grin.

"You damned lucky Dog."

I looked back at Sandor, and he didn't seem to react to the man calling him that name, though Sandor did watch me walk into the kitchen with a smirk on his face. I was relieved that there were no fights to break up.

I brought out the pie and then was distracted by another table that had two young children.

"Many blessings to you, Clegane!" The old man called back to Sandor before the men left the inn.

Sandor's eyes darted about the room.

The only other group in the room was the young couple trying to appease their two children from fussing and paid him no mind. Opal had retired early for the night since it wasn't too busy.

I frowned, thinking.

Sandor...Clegane?!

The Hound. It all added up.

The tale of the Cleganes was a tragic one to hear. Gregor Clegane was a terrible man, injuring his own brother, allegedly killing his own father and sister, and slaughtering Elia Martell and her children.

The Hound himself was a fierce and strong fighter from what I'd heard. There were many stories about him winning tourney events and serving the Crown since he was a teenager. He had a bounty on his head a few years ago when he was taking Arya Stark across the land to her remaining family. Gossip said he had proclaimed "Fuck the King," directly to Joffrey's face.

Before all that, when he had still been sworn to the Crown, I had actually seen him once all those years ago, wearing that hound head helm and riding with King Robert's Court. I never got to see his face then, but I had heard the gossip about it.

The scarred right side of his face, his large countenance, the mystery about him...it all came together to make sense.

I remember Arya Stark telling me how she had found him under rubble, broken but alive after the Battle of King's Landing. His brother Gregor did not survive. She had told me that Sandor had taken several months to heal and recover. She and Sansa had stayed at his side until they were sure he'd make it.

I walked up to him slowly. He stared at me, his expression guarded.

"Did you hear him?" He asked quietly. I simply nodded. His brow furrowed. "Are you going to kick me out?"

"Why would I? You've done nothing wrong to warrant that." He fixed me with his full attention.

"Haven't I?" He got that sad look in his eyes again.

I sat across from him after bidding goodnight to the young family heading up to their room. I took one of his big hands in both of mine.

"You haven't wronged me, dove. I'm not one to judge. If you have any past guilt, it's never too late for atonement."

He snorted softly.

"Atonement, eh? You remind me of someone." He brushed his thumb across my knuckles.

"Was she pretty?"

"No. He was an ugly fucker," said Sandor flatly. I let out a giggle. "He told me it wasn't too late for me to stop all the killing and fighting and violence. Then he was killed. And I went right back to doing it all again." He threw back a large swig of ale.

"I heard at the battle at King's Landing you went down with that tower at the Red Keep and Arya Stark uncovered you from the rubble still breathing." He looked up at me, astonished.

"How did you...?"

"The girl herself came through here on the way to Queen Sansa's Name Day feast a couple of months ago. It was lovely talking to her. A lot of her tales involve travels with you. It sounded like she was speaking about her father until she mentioned you by name."

"Thought she was still in Essos," he rumbled, a fond twinkle in his eyes.

"No. She promised to come back through on her way back and I haven't seen her yet. Perhaps she's still in Winterfell." He nodded, the thoughts in his eyes making him look distant.

"You're not angry that I lied about my name," he stated cautiously.

"No. It's my duty as an innkeeper to take whatever name you tell me. People often want to travel anonymously." I tightened my hold on his hand. "You're not going to leave sooner now that I know who you are."

"No. I'll stay. For now."

"Good. I like your company, whether you're Sandor Waters or Sandor Clegane."

"Can you truly say that? I've done terrible things."

"You've done good things, too. You made a difference in Sansa and Arya Stark's lives. You've saved countless lives by fighting your battles. You took steps in the direction of atonement. And there is still good that you can do now."

"Like what?" He asked quietly, looking at me with an expression I can only describe as astonishment.

"For starters, you can help me clean up the tables before we turn in for the night."

He let out an amused breath.

"Well, shit. I guess there is a price to fucking the innkeeper," he grumbled, taking one last swig of ale.

"You'll be handsomely rewarded," I purred, playfully flashing my leg. His brows rose, his interest caught.

"What is it you need me to do?" Sandor stood and I did as well.

"I'll gather the dishes and wash them. Please wipe down the tables and put up all of the chairs upside down on the tabletops. Then we'll be done."

We got to work immediately and got done within five minutes with our combined effort.

"I was promised a handsome reward," said Sandor in a serious tone as he sidled up to me. His face got close to mine as he towered over me, only inches away.

"You'll get it in your bed tonight." I watched Sandor's reaction to my words. His eyes darkened and his bottom lip slipped between his teeth.

"Sounds damn good to me," he rasped. I could do nothing but giggle as he took my hand and led me upstairs.


Sandor pinned me up against the door as soon as he closed it behind us. Our lips met hungrily before he started trailing his down my jawline and neck. His hands fumbled with the laces to my dress. I quickly helped out, but he lost patience as I was undoing the laces and started tugging roughly at my skirts.

"Sandor! They'll rip!" I complained.

"Then get it all off," he ordered.

"Get your clothes off, too, while I'm doing mine!" I ordered back.

We looked almost comical, barely able to undress ourselves while staring longingly at one another. Sandor lost patience again, attacking me up against the door once I got my skirts off. He knelt as he lifted up my chemise, hooked my right knee over his shoulder, and buried his face between my legs.

"Holy Seven!" I gasped out loud, grasping the door frame for stability. Just the angle and the free range of motion made Sandor's ministrations feel more intense. My breaths came in heavy, and I braced one hand on Sandor's free shoulder. Soon I knocked the back of my head hard against the door as I threw my head back in pleasure.

"Fuck," cursed Sandor, stopping to stand up and put a hand to the back of my head.

"No, don't stop," I begged weakly. "I'm fine."

He wordlessly guided me to the bed and laid me down on the edge so that my legs dangled off. He quickly knelt and pulled my thighs onto his shoulders. My back arched and I threw my head back safely this time. Only a minute more and I was crying my pleasure into the air. I heard Sandor let out a pleased growl against my thigh, soon kissing a trail up my body as he pulled me further onto the mattress. I could feel that his beard still held moisture from my release, and I moaned as a thrill ran up my spine.

Sandor's kisses rained upon my still clothed breasts, and I tenderly embraced his neck and head in my arms. His dark eyes looked up at me and he made his way up further to join me on the bed, his hips settling above mine.

I gasped into his sudden kiss as he entered me at the same time. He was perfect, his hips moving at a firm and urgent rhythm.

Several passionate minutes later I threw my arms around his neck and his teeth scraped my chest in a bite as we both finished together frantically, our cries mixing together as well.

He rolled off of me swiftly, chest heaving.

"You were right," he panted. "You're fucking mouth-watering."

I rolled away from him to hide my blush, but he pulled me back towards him, kissing the top of my head.

I started giggling when I glanced down at the two of us. Sandor was still practically fully dressed with only his trousers pulled down a little and I had only managed to take off my skirts.

"At least let us properly undress next time, dove!"

He shrugged his shirt off in response and helped me out of my vest and blouse before lifting my chemise over my head and discarding it off the bed.

"It's a bit late for that," I teased softly.

He proceeded to lay me down and show me just how mistaken I was in the best way possible.