A/N: Holy crap, y'all! I'm on Tumblr! Thank you to whoever put it up on the site! I am so beyond excited about that I can't even describe how hard I jumped up and down on my floor haha. If you guys like my writing here, check my articles out because I do have a day job believe it or not;) Just google '5 heroines who are way cooler than Bella Swan' - unless you're a Bella fanatic - and click on that little link. From there you can find out my real name (which is not Boozy unfortunately) and look at all my other stuff. You'll help me buy food and all that jazz just by being on the site :D

Now, onto the chapter my faithful readers! Onward!

16: I Know What You Plan in the Dark

Sansa finally dragged herself back up to her own bed. It was well past the bedding hour but she couldn't stop the eerie feeling that soaked the air. The Keep was quiet – too quiet. She kept looking behind her to make sure no one was following. Goosebumps lined her skin and her feet quickened their pace. The door to her room flung open and she scrambled to lock it. With her ear pressed against the door, she waited to hear footsteps. There was only a sound of mice skittering across the stones.

"Don't be so paranoid, Sansa," she mumbled. "You're no one anymore."

Her bed had never felt more comfortable than it did that night. The soft covers draped across her body like it knew she needed the comfort. Tightly she wound them around her and huddled into her pillow. She wanted to cry. She should cry. It's what people did when they were hurting. She did it when her father died, when Bran and Rickon died, and then again just the other day. She wanted to hate Sandor and Shae so much that it made her stomach turn; but she meant what she said: she wouldn't let them take away the only thing that made her feel loved.

"I'll die before I'll let that happen," she had whispered as she was leaving his room. He gave her a small smirk before bringing the wine up to his lips. They parted on unstable ground but at least they had an understanding of each other.

Lying in her bed, she turned that declaration in her head. If the time ever came, could she die for him? The soldiers on the battlefields had given their lives for different reasons: some of them might have actually believed in the cause; others were simply following orders. Come the morning it made no difference to their leaders. They were simply numbers on a page that determined who won or lost –pawns in a game of chess. That was all she was in the Keep: a toy for Joffrey, a hostage for the Lannisters, bait for her brother, and the subject of pity for everyone else. Her brother. Did he even love her? It didn't feel like it. She thought about him standing over his maps in a tent, making plans to usurp the Lannisters and lopping off their heads. Sandor would fight alongside him and together they would bring peace to the kingdom. For his bravery, Robb would reward him with lands, titles, and anything else he wanted; Sandor would accept and declare Sansa to be his. They would marry and have handsome babies. They would live long, happy lives and watch the kingdom flourish from Winterfell. Songs would be written about their love and how they overcame impossible obstacles to be together.

"Stupid girl," she whispered with despair. It would never happen. If Robb hadn't come yet, he wasn't coming at all. Sandor was probably passed out drunk, and Tyrion would be her husband. It was too sorrowful for words. It was high time she stopped thinking like the little girl she used to be. That girl had gotten everything so wrong.

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Sandor sat up straight when he heard a noise behind him. The wine jar crashed at the unexpected jolt.

"Shit!" he cursed. His vision was slightly blurred and he had an intense ringing in his ears. Both had combined to make him slightly disoriented. His room had never felt more like a prison than it did at that moment. It was morning; he was sure of it. Noise filtered under the door and into his aching head. He put on his armor and headed out for his shift. Though he wasn't sure if he could take the king's bleating voice this early.

"Dog," Joffrey shouted when he saw Sandor. "You're late."

"For what?" he grumbled.

"I have a surprise for you," the king said with glee.

"It's not that maid again, is it?" he moaned. His bored tone hid his concern. If it were to happen again, he wasn't sure he wouldn't kill the bastard. He may not have been overly fond of Shae but she sure as hells didn't deserve to have that happen, not for a second time. The shame would be too much for both of them to bear.

"No," Joffrey snorted. "She wasn't pretty enough. What you see in that one I'll never understand. No, it's about Sansa."

Sandor straightened slightly at her name. "What about her?"

"She's going to marry that demon I have to call an uncle."

So it was true then. He thought maybe she had just dreamt it or something of that sort. When she had told him last night he was so focused on his own guilt the news hadn't sunk in. Now, staring into the blonde's cold eyes, he realized that she was going to become a Lannister – the worst thing she could have ever imagined. "Really?"

"Yes! And guess who gets to walk her down the aisle?"

"I don't know, Your Grace."

"Me!" he declared. His face lit up at the idea. "I can't wait for the blessed day. Sansa will be mine for the rest of her days. Or at least until she's dried up."

Sandor bit down on his jaw. His hands curled against themselves. That was his position until the king left the throne room. A slow deliberate breath came from him when no one was looking. Being around the king was a test of his will; being around Sansa was a test of virtue – both were starting to wear thin. When Lord Varys came around to his side, Sandor asked where Sansa was.

"She's with the Lady Margaery," he replied quietly. "I'm sure you've heard the news about the engagement."

"I have," he said through gritted teeth.

"Lady Sansa did not take it well so the Lady Margaery has been out comforting her all day. It's sad is it not? Just as she escaped one misery, she lands in the hands of another. Her family it seems is cursed."

"Fuck your curses," Sandor growled.

Varys smirked. "To love someone who has magic in their blood is not a simple thing."

"And fuck your riddles."

"And to think I had some interesting news to share." Varys clicked his tongue. "Shame it will go to waste."

"Clear your tongue eunuch or else I'll cut it out."

Varys rolled his eyes and motioned carefully for Sandor to follow him. He did as the bald spider led them through tunnels and back hallways before landing in his room. Tyrion was already halfway into a jug of wine.

"Ah, Clegane. Do come in," the little lord said. "I assume you've heard the joyous news." Sandor's eyes hardened. "Oh lighten up. I assure you I had no hand in it."

"Then whose idea was it?"

"My father's," Tyrion hiccupped.

"Your father? Why would he care about Sansa?"

"He doesn't. He cares about her heritage."

Sandor looked at Varys and then back at Tyrion. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Robb Stark is making his way to the Twins," Tyrion answered.

Sandor's eyebrow furrowed. "Why?"

"A marriage." Varys took his seat across from the imp.

"Didn't he already marry that other girl?"

"Yes, but Lord Frey has said the alliance can be repaired if Lady Catelyn's brother will marry one of his daughters."

Sandor snorted. "Lord Frey is forgiving a slight? I don't think so."

"Exactly."

Varys' tone was grave, putting Sandor on edge. It took him only a second to understand. "It's a trap."

"That is my fear."

"By who? The Freys are too stupid to do it on their own."

"Unless they have help," Tyrion replied ominously.

"You sneaky bastards," Sandor cursed. "You wouldn't."

"Don't look at me," Tyrion defended hotly. "I had nothing to do with it."

"You're a Lannister!" Sandor bellowed. "So what then, you're going to marry a Stark, bed her, and then tell her she's the only one left?"

"Sansa is the key to the North," Varys interrupted. "They would never truly follow anyone else."

"So they marry her off to someone they can control."

Tyrion glared at him. "If you think I wanted any of this for even a moment, you are out of your wine addled mind! I don't want to marry Sansa any more than she does me."

"You don't know her very well then," he sneered.

"Her brother has kept mine in captivity for a year."

"And your nephew had her beaten every day while your sister stood watch."

The silence thickened between them. It stayed that way for several minutes until Lord Varys broke the silence.

"How did your father know about the Tyrells making plans for Sansa?"

"I'm not sure. I don't exactly have my father's confidence in many things. But if I were to guess, I'd say either one of your spies doesn't belong to you or it was Littlefinger."

"I don't like either of those options," Varys thought out loud.

"It was Littlefinger," Sandor sighed exasperated.

"How do you know?" Tyrion pressed.

"Shae told me that he has been talking to her quite a bit and his…companion warned her not to let Sansa get too close."

"Yes, I too noticed something odd about an order Littlefinger sent out: he wanted two featherbeds for his ship."

"So?" Sandor gruffed.

"So why would he need two featherbeds," Tyrion mused. "Unless he was planning on taking someone important with him. But who would be important enough for him to use money on for such a thing?"

"A little direwolf perhaps."

"Indeed."

"What are we going to do?" Sandor interjected. "We can't let him take her."

"Why not?"

"It's fucking Littlefinger," he said viciously.

"She doesn't have a lot of choices, Clegane. It's either she stays and marries me or she goes off with Littlefinger."

"I don't like either of those."

"Neither do I," Tyrion muttered. "Clegane, I know it is killing you to have your hands tied but I am going to do my best to keep Sansa safe."

"If you really mean that, you'll let her go back to her brother."

"If it were up to me, I would have done it a long time ago. Even if I could, there is no way in seven hells I would take her there now, not with what I fear my father has planned. The power I had as Hand is gone now and whatever little I have left I must use wisely; make sure every move comes out perfectly the way I need it to."

Sandor went from angry to miserable. He and Sansa hadn't been on great terms recently but gods be damned if that meant they didn't still love each other. "What do we do?"

"There's nothing we can do," Varys said with sad eyes. "Sometimes the pieces move themselves and all we can do is watch."

Sandor's heart clutched so tight he lost his breath. The room started to spin and he struggled to find the door. Varys tried to steady him but the eunuch only succeeded in angering the Hound. Sandor grabbed the man's fine clothes and wrung the fabric around his fist. Varys put his hands up in a gentle manner before opening the door. The scarred soldier rested against the hall's cool brick wall. When he felt steady, he continued outward. When he came into the open area that led to the stables, a man blocked his path. It was Osmund Kettleblack.

"Get out of my fucking way," Sandor spat.

"No, I don't think I will." Osney, Osmund's brother, came out from behind him. "And I don't think Osney will do it either."

"You want to do this now?" Sandor challenged. "Because I am in a very foul mood and itching to cut off someone's head."

The two men circled Sandor like hawks. Several other soldiers and guards came to watch the scene. Sandor could take them both. They were tiny compared to him.

Without warning, Osney charged at the Hound. When Sandor moved to block the blow, Osmund came behind and slashed the sworn shield on the upper thigh. The blade went deep but Sandor was so enraged that he knocked Osmund away with one hard blow of his metal glove and turned to parley with Osney. It was like fighting with a scared kitten. One last pathetic attempt to fight had both brothers lying with their swords three feet away from their unconscious bodies. Sandor spat on them and walked away – blood pouring from his only wound. The crowd dispersed and he took a seat on a crude wooden stool inside the stable. He stretched his leg and saw that this was no ordinary cut. It burned deep in his muscles, making even the smallest movement difficult.

'What had that fucker put on the sword?' he thought. He took a whiff and knew: poison. "Those fucking fuckers," he barked. He should have known. It was just like the Kettleblacks to fight dirty.

A gasp came from the doorway. A stable boy carrying a pitcher looked utterly terrified of the Hound.

"Boy," Sandor rasped. "Get your ass over here." The little boy did as told. Sandor felt the kid's arms for any sign of strength. There was some; stable boys had to be strong to carry the load their master's stuck them with. "I'm going to hold your shoulder and we're going to walk to the Keep. Understand?" The boy's tiny head nodded nervously. "Good. You tell anyone about this and I'll gut you quicker than a Tully catching fish."

"Aye, ser," the kid squeaked.

"I'm not a ser," Sandor snapped. "Now get to walkin'."

Sometime after they started, Sandor noticed that he had put most of his weight on the little boy's shoulder. He never complained or so much as winced but they had begun to slow down significantly. A groan escaped Sandor's throat as the boy helped him find rest in the Keep. It was then Sandor took a really good look at the boy.

He was about as tall the crippled Stark had been and strong – scrappy but strong. His brown locks waved about in all directions when a breeze came by. He had these bright green eyes that didn't fit the rest of his boyish face; they were old, seasoned as though he had seen things no child should. Dirt and hay stuck on his dark skin and rat eaten clothes covered his limbs. Sandor wondered what would happen to this child during the coming months. Could he survive the winter that was coming?

"How old are you, boy?"

"Seven," was the answer.

Sandor nodded absentmindedly. "Seven," he mumbled. "What do you want to be when you come of age?"

"A knight."

Sandor chuckled. It was harsh and bitter like the cold winds of Winterfell. "Do you know what happened to me when I was seven?" The boy shook his head. Sandor leaned forward on his knee and dragged a finger down the burnt side of his face. "Know who did that to me?"

"Someone mean," the boy answered.

It was an unexpected answer and Sandor gave a cruel, twisted smile in response. "It was a knight."

The boy's green eyes dulled. "Why?"

"That's what knights do, boy." He grimaced as pain shot through his leg. "Go get-" His mind went blank. There was no one who could come help. Getting Sansa, Varys, or Tyrion would look suspicious. He raced through names he had bothered to remember and one came up. "You know the Lady Stark?"

"The pretty one," the boy nodded.

"Aye, the pretty one. She has a handmaid with long black hair and an accent. Get her. Don't let anyone see you either. Now go."

Off the boy ran while Sandor sat in complete misery. The smell from his wound was getting worse. He heard a soft voice a little ways off and knew immediately that it was Sansa. He cursed to himself. She couldn't see him like this. She was getting closer. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to move to the outside of the wall, away from the entry. He put one hand on the wound to catch any blood and nearly passed out from the pain. The stones guided him around the corner just when Sansa and Margaery were making their way there. He slid on the ground to catch his breath and heard Margaery tell Sansa,

"I have heard about what the king made you see the other night."

"Oh, that. Yes."

"It must have been terrible for you."

"It was but I think my maid got the worst of it."

"Well of course. She had to lie with that beast."

"No, it wasn't that. She is my friend. To see something happen to someone you care about and not be able to do anything is what bothered me. It's the cruelest form of torture. I would have gladly taken another beating from Ser Meryn or Ser Blount if it had saved her from that."

"But she is only a maid."

"Yet she is the one who comforted me when Joffrey made me cry or reminded me that my family is alive and I might get to see them again. I have so few moments like that in this place. Now even Joffrey has taken that away from me."

Margaery put her arms around Sansa. "Tyrion will treat you kindly; I'm sure of it. He is far from the worst of the lot."

"I keep forgetting that."

"I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to be his betrothed. When I am queen, rest assure that I will do everything in my power to get you away from this place. You deserve a beautiful life Sansa and you will never get it as long as you are here." She wiped a tear from Sansa's pale cheek. "Did I ever tell you about a bird I once had? I found it struggling on the ground; it had been knocked from its home and was dying. I took it home and loved it and for a while that bird was my whole world until one day I found it dead not long after it came into my care. I cried and cried until I thought my tears had run dry. My grandmother told me that in the forest, those birds live longer than most animals but by keeping it locked away, I had killed it. Some birds, she said, are not meant to be caged. It's better to care for them for a little while and set them free. You will be free, Sansa. I promise."

Sandor couldn't see it but he knew Sansa had bought that story. She always did. He doubted every word. A stabbing throb ripped upward into his torso. 'Where is that fucking boy,' he thought. He heard the two women enter the Keep and let out a sharp breath.

"Hound," Shae whispered.

"Here, woman."

Shae's black hair came traipsing around the other side of the wall. She gasped when she saw his wound. "What happened to you?"

"Never mind that just get me to my room before some bloody knight tries to kill me."

Shae leaned the majority of his weight on her while the stable boy took the rest. Together they hobbled the massive man to his room. It took longer than expected but they got there.

"You tell anyone, I'll cut your fucking tongue out," he growled at the boy.

The green-eyed boy nodded in terror and fled the room.

"He helped you," Shae fired back.

"I don't give a fuck." He let out a harsh yell when Shae tried to move his leg. "Don't fucking touch it!"

"It needs to be cleaned," she hissed. "I'll go get Tyrion. He'll know who to get to help."

"No! Just give me some wine and leave me be."

"Sandor…"

"Go!"

Shae slammed the door so hard it shook. She was worried. He had started to become hot and his skin was clammy. The wound had already begun to fester and bubble. The smell was horrendous. He needed help and he needed it now. She didn't want to risk telling Sansa. The girl's nerves had become frayed over the course of several days. She raced down the hallway until she came to Tyrion's door. Her urgent knocks had him opening the door. Without preamble, Shae started in on her story.

"The best thing we can do is try and keep this secret. Tell the other maids that he has been whoring and drinking himself into a stupor. It used to happen so often a dead man would believe it. I'll deal with Joffrey. He won't be too happy but he does have a soft spot for the Hound," Tyrion said.

"Should we get Maester Pycelle?"

"No. Leave that to me. Go and tell Sansa so she won't be out of her mind with worry. The poor girl has already had enough trauma."

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"Sandor," a soft voice sang. "Sandor, come to me."

"Little bird?" he replied. He couldn't tell if that was really her or a dream. The girl came from a mist with fiery red hair and pale skin. Her feet glided across the floor. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I miss you," she chimed.

The girl's voice was softer than Sansa's lips and it slid under his leather skin. It was more powerful than any wine he had tasted. Her pale fingers reached out for him and he gladly obliged. "I thought you were upset with me."

"Silly man," the girl giggled. She certainly sounded like Sansa; but there was something that didn't quite feel right about what he was seeing. "Come with me," she pleaded. Blue eyes chilled him. "Come to me."

Shudders gripped him but he obeyed. The air was cold. Far too cold for King's Landing. He ignored it as the ghostly image of Sansa beckoned him out of his room and into the hallway. Her white teeth shone as a smile crossed her lips. Now they were outside and the ground was icy. He glanced down to see that it was snow. It was blowing lightly across his bare feet.

"What the seven hells?" he said. The more he walked the cooler the air got. But Sansa was still leading him further away from the Keep. "Sansa, where are we going?"

She never answered but kept gliding ahead until they reached a pool deep inside a forest. It was there the image stopped and turned. She motioned him to come closer and he did. The pool had been frozen. His feet rejected the feeling at first but he forced them to stand on the deep ice. While he was walking to the middle, Sansa's face seemed to shift into several different images. It was so sudden that he wasn't sure he had seen it. White arms rose outward as though she were beckoning something. Then Sandor saw several direwolves circle the pool – two, three, six direwolves he counted. One was pure white with red eyes, one had no head, one looked completely wild, one seemed to know who he was and it was not happy; Sandor saw the last one with blood coming out of its throat. They stood there waiting for something to happen, he just didn't know what.

The one without a head started to scratch at the ice, whining and growling. He wasn't entirely sure how but it did. The others followed but when he looked down, Sandor couldn't see anything. Then the ice began to melt. He tried to stand but slipped. His face slammed into the solid block of ice and that's when a face – clawed and red – stared up at him. He scrambled backward but he felt a rising heat beneath him. His hands went out from under him as he tried to stand. He tried to run to ground but tall men appeared out of the tree lines. His breathing became erratic. Sansa appeared in front of him. Her pale face contorted into pain and she began to weep.

Hands broke through the surface and pulled at her, attempting to drag her down into the flames. The harder they pulled the more she changed. Her vibrant red hair turned black as ink. Ashes covered her body and nightgown.

"Sansa!" Sandor screamed. He grabbed her arm but the icy exterior had begun to crack. "Sansa, hang on!" He tried to pull her up but he had no strength. He could feel her beginning to surrender. His gray eyes met her blue ones once he realized what she was going to do. "Please don't leave me," he whispered in anguish.

"I love you," she smiled. Bloody tears stained her face. She closed her eyes and her skin went from ice to porcelain to ivory. She let go of his hand and the pool was instantly frozen again.

"Sansa!" he screamed. He began to beat the ice repeatedly until his skin cracked and then he beat it some more. "Sansa, no!"

"Hold him down," the maester instructed Bronn.

Bronn held the large man down as best he could while the maester inserted another tool into the wound.

"What's wrong with him?" Sansa asked from the table. "Why is he sweating like that?"

"He has a fever and his body is fighting it. Whatever poison this is, it is extremely potent."

"But you can fix him," she prompted with anxiety. She began to pace back and forth.

"Maybe."

Sansa stopped suddenly. "What?"

"Poisons are very tricky things, my lady. I need to know what kind it was to determine the best course of action. Right now, we can try to keep his fever down and his body cool."

Tyrion shared a knowing look with Bronn. The sellsword gave a quick nod back.

"What can I do?" she interjected.

"Get some rest," the old master said. "Other than that, nothing."

"I'll escort you back," Tyrion offered.

"I'm not leaving him."

"You can't stay here, Sansa."

"What if something happens and I'm not here? He's been saying my name for the past three hours. If he wakes and I am not here…"

"He will still live," Tyrion replied gently. "Bronn will stay in case anything should change."

"Aye, I will. I'll fetch you the moment something happens."

Sansa didn't like the plan. Sandor looked as though he were on the Stranger's doorstep. Her eyes were heavy though from the crying she had done earlier. But she knew herself enough to know sleep would never come until he was feeling better. She could see how colorless his skin was and it scared her. He looked so weak and vulnerable. That was not Sandor. Without warning she let out a sob. The men glanced around as though they had no idea what to do.

Shae softly led the young girl out of the room. It was dusk and the Keep had begun to prepare for the night. Anyone who saw Sansa crying assumed that it was because she was being forced to marry the twisted imp. Shae glared at the other maids who dared to smile. When the women finally reached Sansa's chambers, the Stark didn't try to pretend to be okay. She let Shae take off her garment and brush her hair. It was an eerie silence for them both. Neither really knew how to proceed since the issue of what happened with Sandor still wasn't fully resolved.

"Shae?" Sansa sniffed.

"Yes, milady?"

"Are you in love with Tyrion?"

Shae stopped the brush. "Why do you ask?"

"You look at him like Sandor looks at me." She turned to face the brunette. "Please don't lie. I'm so tired of those."

Shae pulled a seat next to Sansa. "Yes. I am."

"That's why he was there that day."

"Yes."

Sansa stared at her handmaid. "Then why did it seem like you enjoyed it?"

"Because I knew that he wouldn't. My whole life I have had to pretend to like things I hate. That is what a whore does. We must learn to adapt to a situation quickly or else we live by scraps. I admit that it was different since I had been with Tyrion for such a long time but make no mistake: it is not something I wish to do again."

"Now I am to marry the man you love and you must watch."

"I know." The brunette swallowed hard at that thought. She and Tyrion had a long talk about that too. She would never come to grips with it but it looked as though no one had a choice in the matter.

Sansa cleared the heavy tears. "I wish everything would go back to the way it was before."

"We all do. But there is no point in wishing what was. We can only move on from here."

"Can we?"

Shae thought about that for a moment. So many things had occurred over the course of a few days and each event had turned all their lives upside down. But here they were – alive. She didn't know if the gods were actually blessing them or testing them. "I suppose that is up to us."

Sansa sniffled. "I'm tired, Shae. I just want everything to be okay again."

She pulled the girl in for a tight hug. "I know. He'll pull through. He has to. He's the Hound."

"No. He's my Hound." Sansa found her hope buried deep inside somewhere. She had prayed to earnestly, too severely for the gods not to give her a blessing now. 'Just this one,' she prayed as she closed her eyes tight. 'Please, I don't care how it happens, just let him come back to me.'