A/N: Midterms are over! Yay! Now back to our regular posting schedule. Also, reviewing makes the SanSan ship float.

P.S. There's a few minor spoilers if you haven't read the books. Not much; just a name and the real person behind Gendry leaving King's Landing. I don't think it has much bearing as far as spoilers go, but I didn't want to take a chance.

Chapter 6: The Turncoat

Sandor was getting ready for the day's duties despite getting very little sleep. He had passed out sometime around four in the morning and woke up just before dawn, still clutching the massive jar of wine in his hand. He shook his head violently to get rid of that embarrassing memory of talking to the imp but the only thing it accomplished was making his headache worse. Though his normal armor was still bloody from the riot, he donned it anyway. There was no way in seven hells he would wear any other kind, especially the kingsguard. He loathed that with every fiber of his being. To him represented everything he resented. He begrudgingly put the last of his armor on and headed out for the breakfast room.

"You look awful," Tyrion quipped as he stuffed some bacon in his mouth. The small man watched as Sandor took his seat across him and loaded his plate. "You do know that we haven't run out of food."

Sandor sent him a glare as he tore the bread apart. "What are you doing here, imp? I would have thought you wanted to eat in your room."

"I would have but alas, a wolf woke early and needed tending to." He glanced around quickly and saw that only Podrik was nearby but still he whispered. "And sometimes the best company is the kind that no one thinks about."

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the Lannister. "You're hiding then."

"Staving off the day's works," Tyrion corrected. "At least until this headache goes away." He shifted uncomfortably and watched the Hound load his plate again. "Are you going to devour the table as well?" The swordsman snarled against the piece of meat in his mouth. "You are truly magnificent company, Clegane." A movement caught his eye but it was only Bronn checking his weapon on the way in. "I have news," he stated quietly.

Sandor merely stared with a blank expression.

"For our little wolf." Satisfied that his words finally got some form of expression, Tyrion continued. "Have her meet me today after the council meeting." He popped another piece of bacon in his mouth and jumped from the seat. "It's been a delight as always, Clegane. Try not to eat the servants when you're done."

Suppressing an urge to smirk, Sandor finished his meal and headed for court. He thought about what kind of news would be so bad that Tyrion would ask for a meeting as soon as possible. Obviously, it wouldn't be good.

As the day went on and Sandor stood at the stairs watching Joffrey cut off people's various body parts for pleasure, he thought about what the news could be. He knew it wasn't about Robb – any news about the Stark boy would have brought Sansa at the forefront of today's activities. That was good. Not that he was rooting for any side, but he was relieved that Sansa wouldn't be beaten today. So now that it had nothing to do with Robb Stark, he wondered if it was about her mother. The kingdom had heard about Renly's death, but Sansa wasn't punished for it – well, not in public. He cringed thinking about that day. Moving on, he came to Arya. Again, nothing had been said all day to the king. If she was captured or dead, Tyrion most likely would have told Sansa right away so that she'd be prepared. That left the two youngest Starks. But he easily dismissed that idea. The two boys were so young that no one paid much attention to them. They weren't a threat to anybody at the moment. In fact, he could barely remember seeing them during his time at Winterfell.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa looked at herself in the mirror. The cut on her head was okay, but the bruise on her cheek was still red. She touched it gently and winced at the pain.

"Milady should leave her bruises alone," Shae quipped. "Let them heal properly."

"Why can't they just go away?" she sighed out of annoyance.

"It always feels like forever when you have a wound," Shae smirked. "Any other day you never look twice at yourself."

"I've never had a cut on my face before."

"Never?"

"Well, there was this one time when Arya threw her stitching needle at me. I don't even remember what I said, but it made her angry. The needle scratched me across the cheek but it healed the next day." Shae quirked an eyebrow at her. "It wasn't a very long needle." Sansa regaled tales of her sister's adventures until she grew sad.

"Are you alright?"

"I miss her," Sansa whispered. Her blue eyes grew misty at the memories she was sharing. "I told her I hated her once. I don't even remember why. I thought things had started to get better between us...but then we left for King's Landing and that's when everything fell apart. After Mycah was killed, she never forgave me. I don't blame her. I should have told King Robert what happened. I should have known right then that the queen and Joffrey weren't good people. Maybe I did know and just didn't care. That was when I thought he loved me."

"What happened?"

"He ordered my father to be beheaded. If it wasn't for the Hound preventing me from pushing Joffrey off the ledge, I wouldn't be here and my head would be on a spike next to my father."

"You shouldn't say things like that. Someone could hear you."

"What are they going to do to me that they haven't already?"

Shae lowered her brown eyes and stared into Sansa. "Plenty."

"I don't care. I'm tired of this place. I want to go home."

"My mother told me once that when my father would go on these long trips, she would never be lonely."

"Why was that?"

"Because wherever he went, her heart was with him. So they were never really apart. Your family may be torn apart right now, but it will not always be so. They are with you and you are with them. As long as you remember that, you will never be lonely." Sansa smiled slightly at the comforting thought. "How does a walk around the gardens sound?"

"Lovely," Sansa nodded. Shae helped her get ready and the two headed for the garden.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hound."

Sandor turned around carefully at Cersei's command. "Your Grace?"

"Come with me." Sandor had no choice and followed the blonde woman until she stopped just in front of the iron throne. She stood there for a moment and stared at the chair as though another world was happening around her. "Have you heard anything about the Stark girl?"

"Which Stark girl?"

Cersei rolled her eyes and huffed. "The only one we have."

"No, Your Grace."

She looked peeved at his answer. "I want you to keep an eye on her; watch her. I think her flowering will come any day now and I want to be the first to know. Don't let her know though. I remember my first flowering. It can be uncomfortable in many ways, especially if there is a man watching for it; but since you are the one who guards her chambers the most, it won't look as suspicious."

Sandor couldn't think of anything more uncomfortable to do. "Yes, Your Grace."

She regarded him for a moment. "How was my son today?" He had noticed her absence in the throne room, yet couldn't bring himself to care. But he also didn't know how to respond to that question. "That's what I thought," she sighed. "Dismissed."

He bowed and left her cold presence quickly. Her whole being felt dismal and empty and it consumed everyone who was around her no matter how short the visit. No wonder she hated Sansa. The redhead was the complete opposite. He watched as the queen stared at the throne for a few minutes more until she headed back toward the council room. It was great timing too because Sandor caught a glimpse of red hair as Sansa walked along the furthest hallway; he made his way up the stairs and had decided to ignore her and keep on walking but she had other plans.

Sansa stared at Sandor as they got closer to each other. She felt guilty for not thanking him for saving her life, not that she had an opportunity to do so. He had made himself scarce since the incident. Though he kept his eyes straight, Sansa knew he was aware of her presence – he always was. Before she could stop herself, she called him out. "I beg pardon, ser." He stopped but it looked as though he were annoyed. Undeterred, she continued. "I should have come to you after: to thank you for saving me. You were so brave."

'She's doing it again,' he thought. She was elevating him to a knight from one of her songs. "Brave? A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his stubborn resistance to compliments – or even a simple thank you apparently – Sansa plucked up her courage and retorted, "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

"No, it gives me joy to kill people." Her gasp irritated him. "Spare me the piety. Don't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."

Sansa knew he was trying to scare her, but she wasn't afraid. She was never of the Hound anymore. "It was his duty; he never liked it."

Seeing Ned's smug face did nothing to calm the urge to shake her into reality. "Is that what he told you? He lied." He looked straight into her blue eyes and added, "Killing is the sweetest thing there is." Her eyes which held such gratitude only a moment ago dimmed.

Sansa had had just about enough of Sandor's self loathing. "Why are you always so hateful?"

"You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday when you're queen and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved king." He put all the hate he had for the blonde king into his words. But it was clear from her fallen expression that he had hit a nerve. He threw all her pretty words and empty proclamations back in her face. And it killed him.

Sansa swallowed her tears. She wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of him. Instead, she turned and walked solemnly to Tyrion's chambers. He had wounded her deeply by his mockery and his words stung more than his hit. She could heal from the bruises – and she always did; but she didn't want to be married to Joffrey any more than Sandor wanted to be a knight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Ah, Lady Stark. Please, come in."

Sansa was escorted into a small room that served as Varys's chambers. Tyrion had been long at the council meeting and once it was done, he had told her to follow him. She did as she was told and they walked to the other side of the castle, where the eunuch's chambers was located.

"My apologies for the change of venue, but these days, one must always be on the lookout," the bald man smiled. He motioned for her to sit, but she declined. "Has Lord Tyrion told you anything?"

"No, my lord," she said nervously. Tyrion was standing next to Varys and both looked solemn.

"She doesn't know; no one knows."

"Knows what?" she asked.

"I have received word about your brothers at Winterfell," Varys replied carefully. He shared a look with Tyrion before going on. "It seems that Theon Greyjoy has captured Winterfell."

Sansa blinked at the news. "What do you mean captured? How can Theon capture his own home?"

"I suppose he never really thought it was his home after all. He has taken the castle and forced your brothers to surrender."

"B-but Theon wouldn't do that! He's an honorable man!"

"I've heard a lot said about the Greyjoy's but never that they're honorable," Tyrion retorted quietly. "Has your father ever told you about the Greyjoy's?"

"No."

"Theon was a ward, but he wasn't there by his choice, nor his father's; he had been captured by your father when the Greyjoy's tried to rebel...again... And failed...again. Your father refused to harm him and instead kept him at Winterfell to be raised among his own children."

"What about my mother? Are Bran and Rickon alive?"

"My sources tell me that they are alive and unharmed," Varys interjected. "Unfortunately, my sources also report that Ser Rodrik is dead."

Sansa felt sick and nearly collapsed but Varys and Tyrion caught her. They led her to a seat so she could rest. "Why?"

"He called Theon a turncoat."

"Rightly so, if it's not too bold of me to say," Varys added. "He and the Bolton boy both."

Sansa looked up with a confused expression. "But Lord Bolton is with Robb."

"Roose is," Tyrion replied. "But his bastard isn't."

Sansa's eyes darkened. "Ramsay?"

Both men looked at her, clearly surprised. "You know of him?"

"They're known for flaying people. It's their sigil."

"Correct," Tyrion said in a small voice. "Rest assure that Varys has every confidence in his source who says that your brothers are well. Right?"

"Oh yes. I have been sworn to that your brothers have not been harmed."

"What about my mother? Has she gone back to Winterfell?"

"No, my lady. Your mother is still with Lord Stark."

That was a strange sound: her brother being addressed as the lord of Winterfell. "What will happen to the people there?"

"Only the gods know for certain."

"Why would he do this? My father was nothing but kind to him."

"He's a Greyjoy," was the only explanation Tyrion could give her. Sansa's face had gone white as a sheet and he hurried for some water. "Drink, please."

Sansa took a sip from the cup. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you deserve to know what's going on with your own house. Just because you're a hostage doesn't mean you have to be a prisoner."

Sansa didn't smile, but she softened her face a bit. "Thank you for telling me."

"If I hear anymore, I shall let you know immediately," Varys replied.

"I must caution you to not speak of this to anyone," Tyrion warned. "Not even your handmaiden."

Sansa nodded in understatement. "Thank you, my lords."

Tyrion and Varys watched Sansa walk out into the hallway and then closed the door.

"What do you think of this news?" Varys asked Tyrion.

"It's sad but predictable. Though, the Bolton bastard gives me a reason to be fearful for the Stark boys."

"Ah yes, Ramsay Snow."

"I wouldn't let him hear you say that," Tyrion grinned, but it wasn't from amusement.

"Do you really think Roose's bastard will harm the two boys?"

"Not if he values his life. Robb Stark may be fighting us, but he has a loyal army at his command and the North in the palm of his hand. Not even that little bastard cunt is stupid enough to mess with those boys at the moment; the Ironborn on the other hand are a different story. But my concern lies with Sansa."

"But she is here, my lord."

"For now," Tyrion replied quickly. "Her brother doesn't yet know of the Greyjoy boy's betrayal?"

"No, but I would think that any minute now he would receive a raven."

"He will have to make a choice: his sisters or his brothers. If your reports are true and the Ironborn want to take the North for their own, then Robb would have to split up his army. If he had enough men, that wouldn't be a problem. But as he's winning our war, he cannot afford to lose the ground he's gain, especially with my brother in his camp. If he goes to Winterfell to fight, he'd take Jaime with him and my brother would most likely die considering the Greyjoy's hate us as much as the Starks and with his life, Sansa's would be forfeit as well; should he choose to stay and fight, his brothers would not survive under both Greyjoy and Bolton rule for long."

"An impossible decision," Varys mumbled to himself.

"You are sure the queen has not heard this news?"

"Yes."

"Good. Keep it that way. Maybe I can figure out a way to help the Stark boy."

"You would help your enemy?"

"Not Robb; Bran. No one deserves to die from a Bolton."

The image that came to Varys's mind made him shudder. "Yes, that is true. And what of Lady Stark? Was it wise to tell her about this? She is only a young girl and she did tell the queen about her father's plans."

"One thing I've learned, my dear man, is that you should never underestimate the power of a survivor. Sansa will be okay for now. I will have someone look after her."

"Our mutual friend?"

"Her too. Remember to tell your little spies to keep quiet about this. Any news yet from the Night's Watch concerning another specific bastard?"

"Not yet, my lord."

Tyrion hummed to himself. "Tell me, when you sent Gendry away so that he wouldn't be killed, did you tell Yoren why?"

"I don't think I had to."

"Yes, he is rather smart. Can't say the same for Ned Stark."

"Ned Stark was an honorable man."

"I'll be sure to tell him next time I visit his head on Joffrey's spike."

"I did hear one thing now that I think about it," Varys stated. "When the queen's guards came across Yoren's camp, one of them noticed a boy who was hiding. They of course didn't think much of it considering Gendry is described as a man, but it got me thinking."

"That's never a good thing."

Varys ignored the remark. "What if the younger Stark girl went with Yoren?"

"That's impossible. Night's Watch doesn't take women."

"But he was a friend of the Starks; perhaps he let her join the recruitment posing as a boy. It'd be the perfect hiding place – a highborn girl who's wanted by the royal army masquerading as a recruit for the Night's Watch."

Tyrion could see the dots starting to connect. "Winterfell is on the way to the Wall but with it sacked, she might be able to get to Jon. Huh. What a clever girl." Tyrion was starting to grow fond of Arya Stark.

"It appears Sansa isn't the only Stark capable of survival. Should we tell her?"

"No," Tyrion said quickly. "It is only speculation." And even though he wouldn't admit, Tyrion was kind of rooting for the young Stark. "I don't want to give her hope of her sister being alive and then we end up finding Arya's body."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Clegane!" Tyrion called out cheerfully.

Sandor turned on his heel at the sound of his name. Why were the Lannisters of all people wanting to talk to him today? "Yes, my lord?"

"I have a proposition for you." Sandor didn't say anything so Tyrion continued. "Your little wolf has received some distressing news today." He motioned for the taller man to walk with him. "It is of the upmost importance that she be kept safe."

"From who, my lord?"

"Everyone. Anyone. Herself. I will be putting you on guard duty for her; I'll tell the king something to make it plausible."

"Yes, my lord."

"Do you know why I trust you with this?" Again, Sandor gave no hint about what he was thinking. Tyrion smiled and pointed at him. "That's why."

Sandor noted that there must have been something in the wine. Two separate offers from the Lannisters to watch over Sansa – both for very different purposes. He had never had this much trouble before he started being nice. How was he supposed to keep pushing Sansa away when he was being ordered to watch her all day every day? He shook his head at the dueling thoughts inside.

"What say you, Hound?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes, my lord." His deadpanned tone made Tyrion laugh.

"Don't look so dismal, dear man. She's just a girl."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor was cursing Tyrion and the whole Lannister lot when Sansa came walking up.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Has the king asked for me?"

"No."

Sansa breathed a small, but audible sigh of relief. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No."

The air was tense around them, but Sansa wasn't entirely sure why. "Why can't you just accept a thank you?" she blurted out.

Sandor whipped his head to look at her. "My lady?"

"Don't do that," she ordered. "I just wanted to thank you for saving my life and instead of saying, 'you're welcome' you try to frighten me with your declaration about how life is only sweet when you're killing a man!"

"You're welcome," he ridiculed. Suddenly, Sansa let out a cry of pain as she held her stomach. Sandor tried to catch her, but she ended up tripping on his feet. The action caused her to stumble backwards and lean against the half wall, taking Sandor with her to the point he almost fell over the short wall to avoid stepping on her. "Are you trying to kill us?" he shouted. But when he looked down, she was cradled on her side. "What's wrong?" he asked in a slightly nervous manner.

Sansa had never felt pain like this before. She grasped at her stomach and slid down to the floor. When Sandor tried to help her up she refused. "Just give me a minute."

Waiting anxiously, Sandor stood in front of her. She was holding on to her stomach the same way she did the night before the riot. "Are you hurt, girl?"

Sansa waited for the pain to ebb before she answered. "No, I'm okay now."

"What's the matter with ya?"

"I don't know."

"Can you stand?" He reached out his hand and she took it lightly. "What is it?"

"I don't know. It feels sharp like a large needle poking me inside."

"Is it from Meryn?" Sandor was going to kill that bastard if he had hurt her like this.

"I don't think so."

Sandor led her into the chamber. "Are you going to be all right, little bird?"

"I'll be fine." Sansa watched as the Hound left the room. She groaned at the throbbing pain still thumping against her stomach. Quickly, she threw the blue nightgown over her body and climbed into bed. She had been crying at the godswood since Tyrion told her about Winterfell. She cried for Bran and Rickon being left alone with Theon and that monster, Ramsay; she cried for Robb and her mother who were in a battlefield, and she cried hard for Arya. There was still no word from her or about her. Even Varys said his spies hadn't seen or heard anything and they were everywhere, even at Winterfell apparently. Her family was split in all different directions and she was stuck here at the Keep.

Night had fallen slowly for her as she checked to make sure Sandor was still outside. She opened the door a crack and saw a random guard standing there.

"Is everything all right, my lady?" the man asked.

"Um, yes. Thank you." She closed the door in a hurry and ran back to her bed. There was a sleeping draught on her dresser and with a quick swig, she swallowed the bottle. It worked quickly and soon she was dreaming of the riot again.