A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited. It's wonderful waking up to those emails. I know that in the last chapter, Sandor hit Sansa and in a way, I feel like I have to defend that decision. But I won't because a) this is important to the story and b) Sansa gets revenge in her own way in her own time :) *insert mysterious laughter*

P.S. Don't forget to review. It makes my muse very, very happy.

Chapter 3: Rule Number One

A knock at the door had Tyrion Lannister rushing to scoot Shae behind his bed. He opened it carefully only to find the two whores he had sent his nephew in his sight. The Hound was carrying one of them – naked and badly beaten. Ros was barely holding in her sobs, not knowing if the king had ordered the Hound to beat her should she cry.

"What has he done?" Tyrion whispered. He quickly ushered them in and order the Hound to place the naked woman on his bed.

"His Grace ordered this one to beat the other," Sandor explained. "I was ordered to take them to you."

"My nephew did this?" When the Hound nodded, Tyrion brought him over. "Go get Maester Pycelle and then check on the Stark girl. I don't want her to suffer the same fate should the king not get all his desires sated tonight."

"Fuck Pycelle," Sandor growled. He marched out of the room and headed straight for Sansa's chambers. He knocked, hoping to the gods or whoever ruled the universe that Joffrey hadn't called for her. He knocked again, this time louder. When there was no answer, he kicked the door in - hard. It swung on its hinges as he drew his sword and searched her rooms in case someone was hiding. When he emerged from the adjoining bathroom, he found Sansa staring at him in the doorway.

"What's going on?"

He breathed a deep of relief, but he sheathed his sword to hide the noise. "I was ordered to make sure you were safe."

"In the middle of the night?"

"One never knows when bad things might happen." They stood there for an awkward moment: he in his armor and she in a thin nightgown. He cleared his throat loudly and pushed past her.

"Hound," she called out. Gods, she hated that name!

Sandor cringed at the use of his nickname. She must have been very upset because he knew she hated that name. "Yes, Lady Stark?"

"Close the door," she commanded. Well, that was unexpected. He carelessly put it back on track and shut it. "Sit."

"Little bird gives commands now," he sneered.

Sansa ignored the remark and walked up to him. Carefully, she placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "I'm okay."

He hated women's games. "That's good to know. I shall tell his Grace that you are feeling better."

He was mocking her, she knew that. But she didn't let it deter her. "No," she said forcibly. "I mean, I'm okay."

His head tilted as he let her meaning soak in. "You are, little bird?"

"I am."

"Then why have you not eaten?"

A dark cloud came over her eyes. "I miss my family."

Sandor wondered what that must feel like. "I'm sure you'll see them again, little bird."

"Are you?" she mused. "I am a prisoner whose only hope each day is that the king won't send his guards to hit me."

"And you think I enjoyed that, do you? Well, I didn't. You think it is easy to watch over someone you hate?"

"You hate everyone," she retorted.

Grey eyes moved over her face. "Not everyone, little bird." He shoved her hand away and stalked out.

Sansa moved back to her bed, but couldn't sleep. She hated the Hound; but she liked Sandor. She could see that he still felt guilty for hitting her and someday she would find a way to make him understand that she didn't think any less of him. If he hadn't hit her, someone else would – and it would have been worse because they wouldn't have taken it easy nor helped her afterward. She would catch him staring at her sometimes out of the corner of her eye when he thought she wasn't looking. How often did he do that? She resolved to catch him in the act next time; see if his stare was just her imagination.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What happened?" Shae asked.

"Joffrey made one of the whores beat the other one. You must go get Varys and tell him that Maester Pycelle is needed. Then, go to Sansa's room and stay there. I don't trust Pycelle to see you."

"I thought he was in the dungeons?"

"He was; my sister has decreed for me to release him. Go, before it becomes too late."

Shae did as she was told and after waking Varys, she headed down the hall to Sansa's room. She heard vague noises coming from inside but they seemed to be friendly, or at least civil. Standing against the wall, she recognized one of the voices as the Hound's. She heard Sansa tell him that he hates everyone, but Shae couldn't hear his response. The door opened and out came Sandor, giving her such a cold glare that she was frozen in place. "Is she okay?"

"See for yourself, woman."

"Wait," she called out softly. She followed his footsteps until they reached a dark corner.

Sandor turned on his heel, causing her to stumble backwards. He offered no help to balance her. "What?"

"What happened? Did you say anything to her about how you feel?"

Sandor was not in the mood for this. He clasped her neck hard and squeezed. "You speak of dangerous things."

Shae produced a short knife and held it to his neck. "You don't want to kill me."

"Why? Because you're a woman?" he snorted. "I've killed hundreds of them."

"No; because he likes his woman unarmed." She crushed the knife into his skin, but he didn't flinch.

The Hound released her from his grip roughly. "The only reason I haven't killed you for speaking is because she likes you. The moment that stops, you die. And no one will stop me."

"Must you always jump to the wrong conclusion?" Shae huffed. "I want to see her happy. I think she deserves it."

"And what do you think makes her happy?" He put as much mockery and contempt into his voice as possible.

"You." Sandor blinked at her. An echo filtered down the walls and the two stopped breathing. "We cannot talk here."

She had begun to walk away before he grabbed her arm tightly. "If you say a word to her, I will kill you."

Shae pulled her arm from his hand and smirked. "And if you say a word about what I've said, I will kill you."

He highly doubted she could do that, but he kept his mouth shut. He watched as she disappeared into Sansa's room and closed the door behind her. He shook his head as a headache started to form. He understood the game of thrones that the lords and highbornes liked to play; power is always lusted after. But this? This was so far out of his element, he wasn't sure he could survive. He had seen what became of people who carried secret trysts and got caught. He had seen what love and thoughts of love led people to do. Even if by some remote chance Shae was right and he made her happy, Sansa was not a good liar. Should someone question her about the smallest detail, she would be caught. He even had to back up her lie during the tournament at Joffrey's nameday celebration. The poor girl had too much of a gentle heart and often let it get the best of her. People were too afraid to question him, even kings, and the majority of them honestly believed he had no feelings; but the moment someone saw a change between them, the word would be out and there would be a hefty price to pay – and someone always saw. Even Cersei and Jamie's relationship had become public and that was due to Bran Stark's fall in Winterfell! The memory reminded him that these feelings were not good for anyone. He could try to ignore her, but that was near impossible since they were around each other all the time. He had to stop looking at her though. That was a must. A look that lingered could trigger a landslide in King's Landing.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Sansa and Shae took a walk to the gardens.

"Where is the King's Hand?" Sansa asked quietly. "I wanted to speak to him about something."

"I believe he is meeting with the Queen," Shae replied. "Word has reached her about Lord Renly."

Sansa's beautiful face darkened at the thought. "She didn't kill him."

"I don't think she did either." Both women had come to learn that rule number one in King's Landing is no names.

The two walked around a bit as Sansa smelt the flowers that had blossomed. "Is there any other news that you've heard about?"

Shae brought her voice down to the lowest she could. "I have heard from a reliable source that Stannis Baratheon sails this way. He means to take the Iron Throne."

Sansa didn't even try to hide the smile that graced her lips. Stannis meant freedom. Her father and Stannis were allies. In fact, Stannis was the person her father had told first about Joffrey's real lineage. That had to mean something right? Shae cleared her throat as Ser Meryn approached. The smile disappeared instantly from Sansa. "My Lord," Sansa called.

"Lady Stark, the king requests your presence."

Doing as she was commanded, Sansa walked behind Ser Meryn until they reached Joffrey's chambers. Meryn opened the door and Sansa could see Joffrey; behind him stood Sandor. She walked further in and heard the door close behind her. "Your Grace," she said numbly.

"Hello, my lady," Joffrey replied. He sat on a seat and motioned for her to do the same. "I wanted to speak with you."

"Yes Your Grace." Sansa resisted the urge to look at Sandor, even though the burnt side of his face was all she could see. It turns out that even the ugly side was better than looking at Joffrey.

"I have a present for you." He snapped his fingers and the Hound produced a dress from the bed. "Do you like it?"

To her chagrin, she actually did. It was a beautiful dress: the deep green he said he liked on her with a low neckline to show off her growing breasts; it had some tiny diamonds lined up against the neck to call attention to her chest. "I love it," she smiled.

"Put it on," he demanded.

Sansa's eyes met his in a confused state. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Joffrey snapped.

Sansa looked around but didn't see anything to hide behind. "Where shall I change?"

"Right here." The smile that crept up on his lips disgusted Sansa. Her embarrassment at being naked in front of one man was enough, but Sandor? What if he thought she was ugly? "My Lady blushes," Joffrey said in an oddly kind manner. "You are so pure, so lovely."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

His smooth, tiny finger came under her chin to lift it. He had done that before, but unlike when Sandor would touch her, there was nothing thrilling about it. "I understand your concern." Sansa's heart beat against her chest at the king's words. Had his spies overheard something? She had been so careful not to use any names! "My dog beat you badly the last time. For that, I am sorry."

So he wasn't sorry about punishing her for something she didn't do? "It's all right, Your Grace."

"I know it is. Now, undress. I want to see if the dress does you justice." When Sansa didn't move, Joffrey added, "Should I have the Hound do it for you?"

Sandor's eyes met hers and all he saw was fear. It hit him right in the gut.

"No, My King."

"Don't worry about the dog," Joffrey assured. "He has no interest in beautiful things. Do you, dog?"

"No, Your Grace." Of course, that was a lie. Sandor was very interested in Sansa's beauty; but he wasn't interested in seeing her humiliated.

"See? Now, undress." At first, she went fast, wanting to get it over with quickly. But then Joffrey demanded she go slowly. "If you're making me wait so long for you to bleed, I should at least have an idea of what I'm waiting for."

Sansa didn't dare close her eyes as she slowly untied her dresses' strings. She also couldn't bear to look at Sandor. Having Joffrey think she was unattractive was one thing: she simply didn't care; but if Sandor got a look of disgust in his eyes, she would lose all her self esteem. She carefully let the dress fall to her ankles along with her underclothes. She had never been so embarrassed in her life. She glanced up to see that Sandor wasn't even watching her. She assumed that meant he wasn't interested. As her self confidence plummeted, Joffrey circled around her like a predator.

"Soon, I will have you in my bed every night," he said happily. His hand rested on her hip and he brought his lips to hers. "Now, put on the dress." She did so as gracefully as she could, wincing at the pain from her bruise. The dress fit perfectly. It elongated her figure as well as flattered it. The neckline went too low for her taste and the diamonds only drew even more attention to her chest, but the color was stunning on her and the fabric was comfortable. This time, the Hound was looking and his eyes showed not one ounce of disdain. "I like this dress best," Joffrey announced. "Now go. I have business to attend to. Dog, go with her."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The door wasn't even closed all the way before Sansa started running for her chambers. She didn't get very far as Sandor's hands closed on her, bringing her to a stop.

"You made me run, little bird," he panted. "I hate running." Sandor leaned against the wall to catch his breath when all of the sudden, Sansa burst into tears. She dropped onto the floor and her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. Sandor had no idea what to do. Last time a woman cried, he killed her just so he wouldn't have to hear the noise. Although comfort was not his forte, he had to get her out of the hall before someone saw the spectacle. "Little bird," he said softly. He brought her chin up to look at her. "Stop crying." Her sniffles died out as the two stared at each other. He noticed that she was finally able to look at him – all of him – without sadness or pity; two worthless emotions in his opinion. "You're going to be all right."

Sansa couldn't tell him the reason why she was crying. He'd only laugh and mock her. Instead, she simply shook her head. "Why must you be so cruel?"

Wait. What? "Me?"

"Yes, you."

She was getting angry. Good, that was an emotion he could deal with. "What did I do to you, girl?"

Sansa merely huffed and pushed him away. She couldn't tell him anything; he wouldn't believe her even if she had. So she thought up the only thing to make her sound normal. "You hit me!"

Sandor moved back as though something had smacked him in the face. "What?"

"You hit me! I thought you were an honorable man!"

"I told you," he hissed. "I am not honorable nor a man. I can't help it if you weren't able to get that through your empty head."

At first, she was going to argue with him, but that would just lead to her being angry and no way to get rid it. Sansa straightened her appearance and tried to remember her courtesies. She would not become spiteful because of something that was out of her control. "You're right. I won't punish you for something that you had no control over. I refuse to be like the Queen: hateful and manipulative."

"Do you want to get killed?" he said in a dangerous tone. He pulled her into a dampened corner.

"I don't care!" she defended. "I don't care."

"Well I do!"

Ha! She got him to say something worthwhile! "Why? It's not your head that will be on a spike."

"That doesn't mean I want to see yours on one, girl."

"Why?" she pressed.

He sighed heavily as he looked at her. "I'm tired, girl. Even dogs need to sleep." He pushed her out into the hall and started walking. She came up beside him as they made their way down to her chambers. He kept his eyes straight ahead, afraid that if he looked over he would do something he would regret.

Sansa wished that he would just let her in. He was always down on himself and it irritated her to no end. He had hit her, yes. But she would heal. She always did. He wasn't even going to do it until she practically begged him to. Why couldn't he see that? She snuck a peek over and saw that he was staring ahead. She vaguely wondered what he was thinking about when he stopped outside her door. "Thank you, ser."

"I am no ser," he spat.

To both of their surprise, Sansa faced him and said in a defiant tone, "Yes, you are." She took hold of her doorknob and slammed the door in his face. She turned around and saw Shae standing there with her mouth open. "I just shut the door on the Hound," she said amusingly. For the first time in what felt like ages, Sansa let out a giggle.

Outside, Sandor allowed himself a tiny, but very fulfilling smile. It looked as though his little bird was starting to grow a little braver.